Hot damn! I found my space diary. Forgetting you have a diary seems like something that dudes do, so I’m not apologizing to you, space diary. To be honest, the only diary I’ve ever been able to keep is my Poo Log, keeping track of variations in my crap’s size, texture, odor, and “hot-butthole-feeling.” Guys found it hilarious. Girls were all like, “Ew germs gross.”
I’ll write more soon. If I feel like it. And it may be more about poop than about my feelings. Everyone knows feelings are for girls, and girls no longer exist. Oh jam! I think I just did a philosophy. I gotsta tell Bax.
Peace, Love, and Dino Nuggets,
Chuck Freeballin Rockwood
P.S. I found out I’m probably not president of space.