UPDATE: One of my friends, VERY STRANGELY enough, saw the original diary! I have copied it below…
So I sat down a few days ago, unlit cigarette hanging outta my mouth, my faithful cat Bug lying belly up in front of my keyboard (when I get carpal tunnel for typing over him, I’ll know who to blame) to write this diary about Hassan i Sabbah, the Old Man of the Mountain, Leader of Assassins, etc., when I suddenly got a cold chill down my back. Was this not a unique diary? Could I bear the conflagration of shame that would surely sweep down upon me and scorch the essence of my being and inflated ego if I published something (gasp) already known? No, some flames burn too hot to withstand. A validation of some sort was in order.
There was only one course of action. I needed to get to the Archives.
Since I am now considered a Daily Kos “diarist” certain perks kicked in over the past week, chief among these (for my current purpose, at least) was advanced access to the Kos Secret-Yet-Available-To-All Archives. I could tell you about the advanced level I had been so wantonly granted (I never asked for this responsibility, see...), but of course I’d have to kill you. And nobody wants that.
I quickly got up, grabbed my trusty candelabra (yes, I own a candelabra, and no, you can’t see it), pulled the secret lever for the first time (the carpenters and workmen Kos sent made a huge mess that I finally was able to clean up last night, much to my anger… and it’s just a statue on the mantle of my fireplace, for chrissakes, that opens the secret passage — I didn’t say it was original...) and disappeared into the darkness. I was told the staircase leading down would be treacherous (hence the candelabra — still waiting on my reimbursement… Candelabras don’t come cheap nowadays. Well, the good ones at least...), but I didn’t count on the distance I’d have to travel, or Bug constantly trying to trip me on the stairs as he is wont to do (it is a widely known and accepted fact that all cats are, at all times, searching for ways to murder their keepers). Exhausted, with aching shins and scratched palms from having to save myself from tumbling multiple times while trying not to spill candle wax on my cat, I made it to the bottom tunnels.
I followed the signs pointing towards the Archives (didn’t expect it to be a old-timey hand with a finger pointing the way) as quickly as possible, knowing the time was running out on publishing my diary. I passed the expected landmarks — the Kos Memorial Swimming Pool (“So that’s where my subscription fees go”, I blandly thought as I passed), the George Soros Evil Leftist Antifa Youth Reeducation Center & Juice Bar (no time for a smoothie… And don’t act surprised or indignant. Deep in your heart, you kinda knew it would come to this…), and finally found the old wooden door with “Secret Archives” emblazoned on the rotting timber frame above the skulls……..
I’ve already said too much.
Maybe I’ll tell you more if I get authorization…
Where was I?
Oh yeah, Plan B.
Franz Ferdinand is, in my humble opinion, a highly underrated Eurotrash pop band.
So I sat down a few days ago, unlit cigarette hanging outta my mouth, my faithful cat Bug lying belly up in front of my keyboard (when I get carpal tunnel for typing over him, I’ll know who to blame) to write this diary about Hassan i Sabbah, the Old Man of the Mountain, Leader of Assassins, etc., when I suddenly got a cold chill down my back. Was this not a unique diary? Could I bear the conflagration of shame that would surely sweep down upon me and scorch the essence of my being and inflated ego if I published something (gasp) already known? No, some flames burn too hot to withstand. A validation of some sort was in order.
There was only one course of action. I needed to get to the Archives.
Since I am now considered a Daily Kos “diarist” certain perks kicked in over the past week, chief among these (for my current purpose, at least) was advanced access to the Kos Secret-Yet-Available-To-All Archives. I could tell you about the advanced level I had been so wantonly granted (I never asked for this responsibility, see...), but of course I’d have to kill you. And nobody wants that.
I quickly got up, grabbed my trusty candelabra (yes, I own a candelabra, and no, you can’t see it), pulled the secret lever for the first time (the carpenters and workmen Kos sent made a huge mess that I finally was able to clean up last night, much to my anger… and it’s just a statue on the mantle of my fireplace, for chrissakes, that opens the secret passage — I didn’t say it was original...) and disappeared into the darkness. I was told the staircase leading down would be treacherous (hence the candelabra — still waiting on my reimbursement… Candelabras don’t come cheap nowadays. Well, the good ones at least...), but I didn’t count on the distance I’d have to travel, or Bug constantly trying to trip me on the stairs as he is wont to do (it is a widely known and accepted fact that all cats are, at all times, searching for ways to murder their keepers). Exhausted, with aching shins and scratched palms from having to save myself from tumbling multiple times while trying not to spill candle wax on my cat, I made it to the bottom tunnels.
I followed the signs pointing towards the Archives (didn’t expect it to be a old-timey hand with a finger pointing the way) as quickly as possible, knowing the time was running out on publishing my diary. I passed the expected landmarks — the Kos Memorial Swimming Pool (“So that’s where my subscription fees go”, I blandly thought as I passed), the George Soros Evil Leftist Antifa Youth Reeducation Center & Juice Bar (no time for a smoothie… And don’t act surprised or indignant. Deep in your heart, you kinda knew it would come to this…), and finally found the old wooden door with “Secret Archives” emblazoned on the rotting timber frame above the skulls……..
I’ve already said too much.
Maybe I’ll tell you more if I get authorization…
Where was I?
Oh yeah, Plan B.
Franz Ferdinand is, in my humble opinion, a highly underrated Eurotrash pop band.