Charlie and Eleanor are looking less and less of anything, tis okay actually, well, I mean like, I just don't think I could ever have children, or even marry when I'm older, I might be lonely, but eh, I could do things I want to do, like see the world, and if I ever had children, they would get in the way of my acting career, in fact, any career.

I was deleting some of my old word documents when I came upon one called "Don't Read", so what did I do? I opened it, it was the conversation I had with Carson where we were breaking up. God, I'm a kook, I don't know why I kept that, but it sure as hell made me feel guilty and it also made me want to be in his arms. I'm catching up on my homework, praise da lawd. Which reminds me, I finished my crap ass story, I'll post it below. One more thing, I'm not going to shave anymore, too damn tedious, I know nair might smell weird, but I don't give a shit, it's fast. anyway, the shit, here:

7:16 AM, March 2004

A Mr. Alan Dean awaits his usual breakfast that his wife lovingly makes for him every morning. Whilst waiting, he cracks open the first section of the newspaper and routinely sips his coffee.


5:37 PM, March 1982


Well, this is it.

I, Edgar G. Cummings, am about to open the hatch door. I finished the last can of the 20 thousand cans of food yesterday, but now I must open the door. This underground bomb shelter was created back in ’55. I wonder what it will be like on the outside...I hope those damn reds got bombed just as much as we did. I’ve prepared myself for the venturing to the outside world; I got my keen survival skills and some supplies. I wonder if the food is extremely contaminated and mutated. God, I can see it now, a forbidden waste land that not even the foolish of creatures would go to. Well, this is it. I’m going to do it, and I have no need to fear because I have god by my side and I am a survivo




Just then, a Mr. Edgar Cummings looks up towards the dirt that was so packed together, he seems to act amazed…Then; he slumps back into his chair, his mouth agape and looking at the dirt as if it were the sky, with his glassy eyes. His once beating heart, stops.



7:18 AM March, 2004

“Humph,” mutters Mr. Dean, “Sweetie, you’ll never believe what some guy in Montana found yesterday, it seems that he found one of those old bomb shelters that were made in the 1950’s, and inside was, guess what?”

“What?” asks an innocent acting woman known as Mrs. Dean.

“They found a skeleton! A skeleton! Can you believe that?”

“Ugh,” she replies in disgust, “What kind of sick news is that? Honey, I swear that paper is filled with horrible stories”, says Mrs. Dean, as she gently puts down her darling’s plate of pancakes.

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Who am I kidding? I can't write. if at the most I can screenwrite but that's mostly because I've seen enough of them to know how you would write it..I'm tired, I'm off to bed now..