Diaries With Funny Quotes

Funny always makes the bad things go away.

Gurathin turned to me. "So you don't have a governor module, but we could punish you by looking at you." I looked at him. "Probably, right up until I remember I have guns built into my arms.

So the plan wasn't a clusterfuck, it was just circling the clusterfuck target zone, getting ready to come in for a landing.

I’m conflicted. On one hand, I want to stay in and catch up on The Vampire Diaries, but there’s this really awesome restaurant I’ve been wanting to try out.

Whatever. Boris, must you constantly breathe on me?

Plus, in one of his e-mails, the guy said he didn't like pancakes. What kind of asshole doesn't like pancakes?

Forgive me, I’m being a bit crude and rude about this, but I can’t make the reality prettier than it is: sad, grim, and funny all at once.

Somebody dies and people eat your food. Funny how that works.

I know who I am. Bloody hell, I'm getting enough bills for Karl Pilkington so I hope I am him, 'cos if I'm not, I have no idea who I'm paying for.

This means that I don't have to run faster than the psychotic-maniac-vampire-cannibal, I just have to run faster than whoever is with me when the psychotic-maniac-vampire-cannibal starts chasing us.

How Superheroes Make Money: - Spider-Man knits sweaters. - Superman screw the lids on pickle jars. - Iron Man, as you would suspect, just irons.

I often arrive at quite sensible ideas and judgements, on the spur of the moment. It is when I stop to think that I become foolish.

When they bombed Hiroshima, the explosion formed a mini-supernova, so every living animal, human or plant that received direct contact with the rays from that sun was instantly turned to ash. And what was left of the city soon followed. The long-lasting damage of nuclear radiation caused an entire city and its population to turn into powder. When I was born, my mom says I looked around the whole hospital room with a stare that said, "This? I've done this before." She says I have old eyes. When my Grandpa Genji died, I was only five years old, but I took my mom by the hand and told her, "Don't worry, he'll come back as a baby." And yet, for someone who's apparently done this already, I still haven't figured anything out yet. My knees still buckle every time I get on a stage. My self-confidence can be measured out in teaspoons mixed into my poetry, and it still always tastes funny in my mouth. But in Hiroshima, some people were wiped clean away, leaving only a wristwatch or a diary page. So no matter that I have inhibitions to fill all my pockets, I keep trying, hoping that one day I'll write a poem I can be proud to let sit in a museum exhibit as the only proof I existed. My parents named me Sarah, which is a biblical name. In the original story God told Sarah she could do something impossible and she laughed, because the first Sarah, she didn't know what to do with impossible. And me? Well, neither do I, but I see the impossible every day. Impossible is trying to connect in this world, trying to hold onto others while things are blowing up around you, knowing that while you're speaking, they aren't just waiting for their turn to talk -- they hear you. They feel exactly what you feel at the same time that you feel it. It's what I strive for every time I open my mouth -- that impossible connection. There's this piece of wall in Hiroshima that was completely burnt black by the radiation. But on the front step, a person who was sitting there blocked the rays from hitting the stone. The only thing left now is a permanent shadow of positive light. After the A bomb, specialists said it would take 75 years for the radiation damaged soil of Hiroshima City to ever grow anything again. But that spring, there were new buds popping up from the earth. When I meet you, in that moment, I'm no longer a part of your future. I start quickly becoming part of your past. But in that instant, I get to share your present. And you, you get to share mine. And that is the greatest present of all. So if you tell me I can do the impossible, I'll probably laugh at you. I don't know if I can change the world yet, because I don't know that much about it -- and I don't know that much about reincarnation either, but if you make me laugh hard enough, sometimes I forget what century I'm in. This isn't my first time here. This isn't my last time here. These aren't the last words I'll share. But just in case, I'm trying my hardest to get it right this time around.

Oh diary, I love her, I love her, I love her so much. Jordana is the most amazing person I have ever met. I could eat her. I could drink her blood. She's the only person I would allow to be shrunk to microscopic size and explore me in a tiny submersible machine. She is wonderful and beautiful and sensitive and funny and sexy. She's too good for me, she's too good for anyone! All I could do was let her know. I said: "I love you more than words. And I am a big fan of words.

The funny thing is that although we place so much energy and importance on our wedding day, it isn't the biggest day of our life. The biggest day of your life is every day thereafter. Because it's not the pledge to love someone that matters, but the act of fulfilling that pledge that is most important. In other words, it's only just begun.

Pull something out and show me.” I said thoughtlessly. Isaac started snickering, Ethan joined in. Asher was holding back a laugh, his cheeks turning pink. I thought about what I said and started laughing. There are just some things you can’t say in a room full of guys.

Turner let his face fell into his hands. "I'm never going to touch her again", he moaned. "He's never going to touch me again!" they heard Miranda roar. "Well,it doesn't look like you'll have much argument from your wife on that point", Olivia chirped.

I always think it's funny when Indians celebrate Thanksgiving. I mean, sure, the Indians and Pilgrims were best friends during the first Thanksgiving, but a few years later, the Pilgrims were shooting Indians. So I'm never quite sure why we eat turkey like everybody else.

I'm telling you, the gorgeous of the world can actually look pretty intimidating when they scowl. Imagine a snow-white swan with a scary tattoo holding a chain saw. There's just no way to really prepare for that.

You read a book for the story, for each of its words," Gordy said, "and you draw your cartoons for the story, for each of the words and images. And, yeah, you need to take that seriously, but you should also read and draw because really good books and cartoons give you a boner." I was shocked: "Did you just say books should give me a boner?" "Yes, I did." "Are you serious?" "Yeah... don't you get excited about books?" "I don't think that you're supposed to get THAT excited about books." "You should get a boner! You have to get a boner!" Gordy shouted. "Come on!" We ran into the Reardan High School Library. "Look at all these books," he said. "There aren't that many," I said. It was a small library in a small high school in a small town. "There are three thousand four hundred and twelve books here," Gordy said. "I know that because I counted them." "Okay, now you're officially a freak," I said. "Yes, it's a small library. It's a tiny one. But if you read one of these books a day, it would still take you almost ten years to finish." "What's your point?" "The world, even the smallest parts of it, is filled with things you don't know." Wow. That was a huge idea. Any town, even one as small as Reardan, was a place of mystery. And that meant Wellpinit, the smaller, Indian town, was also a place of mystery. "Okay, so it's like each of these books is a mystery. Every book is a mystery. And if you read all of the books ever written, it's like you've read one giant mystery. And no matter how much you learn, you keep on learning so much more you need to learn." "Yes, yes, yes, yes," Gordy said. "Now doesn't that give you a boner?" "I am rock hard," I said.

He giggled like a puppy being tickled by a kitten wearing a duckling costume.

I had the great idea of using markers to gently color the ants so I could tell them apart, but I learned that this is exactly like somebody trying to gently color on you with a thirty-story building. Without dwelling on the tragedy, I'd just like to say that I'm deeply sorry to Mr. Purple and the surviving Purple family.

It's funny,' I noted in the diary, 'how often I seem to build a story around one sentence, nearly always the last one, too. The themes are a bit depressing but I just can't get rid of that.

It’s funny how you can hear a song your whole life and it’s just words and music. And then one day that same song can take on a whole new meaning and knock the breath out of you.

Target Two's gray face went surprised, then furious. It was kind of funny. This was a point where if I was a human (ick) I might have laughed. I decided to go with my first inclination and kill the shit out of some ass-faced hostiles instead. I told the Targets, "Angry, then afraid, then dead. Is that the right order?

And lo, at the moment when she needed it most, she found the force within her. She didn't find it in time to avoid having her head bitten off, but she sure did die enlightened.

Things Isabella Wouldn't Care About: - Titanic sinking again. - Metror striking Earth and landing directly on top of world's most innocent panda. - Titanic sinking again and this time the entire crew is puppies.

The Destructive Arts are exactly like Martial Arts, except they don't have uniforms or usefulness and the end result doesn't resemble art in any way.

Because zombies can’t go out into the sun, most of them tend to be afraid of anything that can go into the sun and live to tell the tale.

The art of living. Isn't that a funny expression?

[Or perhaps my friends should have realized that they shouldn't have left behind the FRICKING REASON FOR THEIR PROTEST! And that thought just cracked me up.] It was like my friends had walked over the backs of baby seals in order to get to the beach where they could protest against the slaughter of baby seals.

It's all chop-change chop-change with you. Either go out with me and treat me nicely, or leave me alone. As I say, I am not interested in fuckwittage.

It’s funny – you don’t think of doctors getting ill.’ It’s true, and I think it’s part of something bigger: patients don’t actually think of doctors as being human. It’s why they’re so quick to complain if we make a mistake or if we get cross. It’s why they’ll bite our heads off when we finally call them into our over-running clinic room at 7 p.m., not thinking that we also have homes we’d rather be at. But it’s the flip side of not wanting your doctor to be fallible, capable of getting your diagnosis wrong. They don’t want to think of medicine as a subject that anyone on the planet can learn, a career choice their mouth-breathing cousin could have made.

The following ten throws went a variety of places. I never hit the target, but I was getting closer. Isabella was laughing so hard she wrote "Please stop can't breathe" in the dirt with her finger.

No, I impersonated my client. My imaginary client. That I impersonated.” I was caught in a loop for a second there.

Is everything all right? Is everything all right? Hmm, hold on a minute, let me see . . . my mom is going out with my Algebra teacher, a subject I’m flunking, by the way; my best friend hates me; I’m fourteen years old and I’ve never been asked out; I don’t have any breasts; and oh, I just found out I’m the princess of Genovia.

I can't imagine the scientists wanting me to walk into the lab and start fiddling around with some big bowl of electrons they had out.

Target Two whispered something, which FacilitySys rendered as „What are you?” I said, „I'm a Shut Up or Get Your Head Smashed.

You have a boyfriend and you still don't want to watch a love story?" Cece's voice had an edge of snide to it. Stay calm, Lexie. I looked at her and said with a straight face. "I will not eat them in a house, I will not eat them with a mouse, I will not eat them in a box, I will not eat them with a fox. I will not eat them here or there I will not eat them anywhere." [...] "Ah, ah, ah man, Red just quoted Dr. Seuss!" [...] "In an argument" [...] "And totally won.

Onscreen is the image of a thirty-year-old Renée Zellweger, sporting red pajamas and belting a song into a rolled-up magazine. "Oh my god, Miles," I say. "What?" He says. "You're watching Bridget Jones's Diary?" "It's a good movie!" he cries, a little defensive.

Advice to explorers everywhere: if you would like to recieve due credit for your discoveries, keep a detailed account of your journeys as Columbus did. On Septemeber 28, 1492, after four weeks at sea, he writes: Dear diary...I means journal. Yes, dear journal. That's what I meant to say. Whew. Anyway, we have yet to discover America, and the crew has become increasingly rebellious. I have decided to turn back if we have not spotted it by Columbus Day. Will write again later if not killed by crew. P.S. Last night's buffet was fabulous, the ice sculptures magnificent.

Ant 1: So, uh, do you ever worry that your itsy little neck is just going to snap under the weight of your head? Ant 2: Stop asking me that. You ask me that, like, every five minutes. Ant 1: Sometimes I notice my antennae out of the corner of my eye and I'm all, like: AHH! Something is on me! Get it off! Get it off! Ant 2: Yeah, the antennae again. Listen, I just remembered, I have to go walk around aimlessly now.

I always think it’s funny when Indians celebrate Thanksgiving. I mean, sure, the Indians and Pilgrims were best friends during that first Thanksgiving, but a few years later, the Pilgrims were shooting Indians. So I’m never quite sure why we eat turkey like everybody else. “Hey, Dad,” I said. “What do Indians have to be so thankful for?” “We should give thanks that they didn’t kill all of us.

I warned you,” Herobrine growled, in a terrifying tone. “It was funny at first, but you took it too far. I’m not Dora The Explorer. Do you see a talking backpack? Swiper no swiping doesn’t work in this world.

Ever notice how amused people are when you point out one of their mannerisms or a funny quirk about them? They start laughing and getting happy because they're thinking, "People notice me! I'm relevent!" It's OK to have these instincts, but you have to suppress them a bit. There are 6 billion people here, so it's not all about you. You need to let other people talk for a while and pay attention to their world for a sec.

There are four categories of questions Emmily asks: 1. Can I please go to the bathroom? 2. Where is the bathroom? 3. Is it okay if I raise my hand and ask a question? 4. I don't understand anything you've said in the last thirty minutes. Could you explain it again? Also the last six weeks.

It seems that along the Rhine front the French broadcast some recordings which the Germans say constituted a personal insult to the Führer. “The French did not realize,” says the DNB with that complete lack of humour which makes the Germans so funny,

Dear Diary Went out shopping today. Picked up half a dozen sheep, two pigs, and a princess. The sheep are rather depressingly thin, the pigs and princess only slightly less so. Dear Diary Went out shopping today. Picked up half a dozen sheep, two pigs, and a princess. The sheep are rather depressingly thin, the pigs and princess only slightly less so.

Even her pink bunny slippers seem to prick up their ears. Diary of a Penguin-napper (p. 15)

Even her pink bunny slippers seem to prick up their ears.

Actors are great people, and special and funny & self-denigrating, so fuck you anyone who disagrees.

If the humans see me actually doing my job, it helps keep suspicions from forming about faulty governor modules.

Ship might be unresponsive but it was doing its best and I didn’t want it to hurt.

You’re not going to ask me to be your partner?” Rather than answer, Diana starts to laugh. “What’s so funny?” “You thought I would actually ask you.

Any bookseller will tell you that, even with 100,000 booksneatly sorted and shelved in a well-lit, warm shop, if you put an unopened box of books in a dark, cold, dimly lit corner, customers will be riffling through it in a matter of moments. The appeal of a box of unsorted, unpriced stock is extroidinary.

When the old man in the crumpled suit came to the counter to pay for the copy of Dostoyevsky's The Idiot, I discreetly pointed out that his fly was open. He glanced down - as if for confirmation of this - then looked back at me and said, 'A dead bird can't fall out of it's nest', and left the shop fly still agape.

The next thing Jordana says makes me realize that it's too late to save her. "I've noticed that when you light a match, the flame is the same shape as a falling tear." She's been sensitized, turned gooey in the middle. I saw it happening and I didn't do anything to stop it. From now on, she'll be writing diaries and sometimes including little poems and she'll buy gifts for her favourite teachers and she'll admire the scenery and she'll watch the news and she'll buy soup for homeless people and she'll never burn my leg hair again.

Live mean or die trying.

I strip the bed as fast as I can so I won’t be tempted to get back in. Do you know what Mother calls this sort of thing? The art of living. Isn’t that a funny expression?

On the entertainment feed, this is what they call an “oh shit” moment.

Soon found there is no way to rid yourself of a disagreeable man’s conversation more effectually than by not allowing him an opportunity of making a remark.

I mean, you have to love somebody that much to also hate them that much, too.

My prom life is over. And so, I am afraid, is my life.

The funny thing about mosquitos is that they're shy in small groups and rude in big ones.

Chicks like it when you're on your knees.

THIS is why I'm single―I'm fat, I'm funny and I won't take it up the bum.

Her face turned a bright red under her half mask. “What?! You think you’re funny, huh? You think I brought this awesome army to your front lawn to mess around, huh?!

You know, sex at seventy-six is getting very dangerous for my health ... since I live at seventy-nine!

This morning the fates tried to infuriate me but carried it too far, so that I became merely funny.

This morning the fates tried to infuriate me but carried it too far, so that it became merely funny.

Every morning they show off their funny T-shirts, awesome sneakers, and fad accessories. Me? I wear the same dorky thing every day. White shirt. Blue pants. Penny loafers. And a plaid tie. Plaid: for when it's more important to hide stains than to look good. At least there is one good thing to come from wearing a tie. It proves I’m a boy. Obviously, eggs don’t wear ties. My

Mrs. Faulkner had sidled up to me and said Good day, Mrs. Elliot? I just looked at her, and I saw in her eyes that she was wanting some kind of approval for her boy because of his career ahead, and she suddenly just looked like an old lady, not fancy and rich and frightening. An old lady whose son admired my husband, and who herself would be as helpless in the Territories as a newborn calf and not nearly as useful. Good day, I said back. It is a funny thing how much more proud people can be of themselves if they never step back and take a good look in a glass.

So , you can hate the heir to the throne all you want, write mean poems about him in your diary, but the minute you see a camera, you act like the sun shines out of his dick, and you make it convincing.

It’s very funny how false the picture is that western people have about Arabs: savage, violent, insensitive, and cold-hearted. I can tell you with confidence that Arabs are peaceful, sensitive, civilized, and big lover’s, among other qualities.

Because it is bad enough living with a neurotic cat, a drum-playing Algebra teacher, and a woman in her last trimester of pregnancy. Throw in a dowager princess of Genovia, and I’m sorry: Book me a room on the twenty-first floor of Bellevue, because it’s the funny farm for me.

THE UNOFFICIAL AND UNWRITTEN (but you better follow them or you’re going to get beaten twice as hard) SPOKANE INDIAN RULES OF FISTICUFFS: 1. IF SOMEBODY INSULTS YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 2. IF YOU THINK SOMEBODY IS GOING TO INSULT YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 3. IF YOU THINK SOMEBODY IS THINKING ABOUT INSULTING YOU, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 4. IF SOMEBODY INSULTS ANY OF YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, OR IF YOU THINK THEY’RE GOING TO INSULT YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, OR IF YOU THINK THEY’RE THINKING ABOUT INSULTING YOUR FAMILY OR FRIENDS, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HIM. 5. YOU SHOULD NEVER FIGHT A GIRL, UNLESS SHE INSULTS YOU, YOUR FAMILY, OR YOUR FRIENDS, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT HER. 6. IF SOMEBODY BEATS UP YOUR FATHER OR YOUR MOTHER, THEN YOU HAVE TO FIGHT THE SON AND/OR DAUGHTER OF THE PERSON WHO BEAT UP YOUR MOTHER OR FATHER. 7. IF YOUR MOTHER OR FATHER BEATS UP SOMEBODY, THEN THAT PERSON’S SON AND/OR DAUGHTER WILL FIGHT YOU. 8. YOU MUST ALWAYS PICK FIGHTS WITH THE SONS AND/OR DAUGHTERS OF ANY INDIANS WHO WORK FOR THE BUREA OF INDIAN AFFAIRS. 9. YOU MUST ALWAYS PICK FIGHTS WITH THE SONS AND/OR DAUGHTERS OF ANY WHITE PEOPLE WHO LIVE ANYWHERE ON THE RESERVATION. 10. IF YOU GET IN A FIGHT WITH SOMEBODY WHO IS SURE TO BEAT YOU UP, THEN YOU MUST THROW THE FIRST PUNCH, BECAUSE IT’S THE ONLY PUNCH YOU’LL EVER GET TO THROW. 11. IN ANY FIGHT, THE LOSER IS THE FIRST ONE WHO CRIES.

The porpoises and whale themselves, in their quests for entertainment, often created problems. One summer a fashion developed in the training tanks (I think Keiki started it) for leaning out over the tank wall and seeing how far you could balance without falling out. Several animals might be teetering on the tank edge at one time, and sometimes one or another did fall out. Nothing much happened to them, except maybe a cut or a scrape from the gravel around the tanks; but of course we had to run and pick them up and put them back in. Not a serious problem, if the animal that fell out was small, but if it was a 400-pound adult bottlenose, you had to find four strong people to get him back, and when it happened over and over again, the people got cross. We feared too, that some animal would fall out at night or when no one was around and dry out, overheat, and die. We yelled at the porpoises, and rushed over and pushed them back in when we saw them teetering, but that just seemed to add to the enjoyment of what I'm sure the porpoises thoguht of as a hilariously funny game. Fortunately they eventually tired of it by themselves.

Yes, she’s fine. She’s rereading one of your books. There’s not many authors she likes, so if there’s nothing new, she just rereads yours. The funny thing is, she forgets how they end, so she enjoys it just as much as the first time. I swear the woman could plan her own surprise party.

Rowdy could be so crazy-funny-disgusting. The Reardan kids were so worried about grades and sports and THEIR FUTURES that they sometimes acted like repressed middle-aged business dudes with cell phones stuck in their small intestines. Rowdy was the opposite of repressed. He was exactly the kind of kid who would e-mail his bare ass (and bare everything else) to the world.

Pierce and I decided to take advantage of that special situation by getting our hands on a piece of coal. Then we started writing and drawing stuff on Arthur’s face. It was so funny when he woke up. He walked around with a drawing of a heart on his forehead and Autumn’s name in the middle. It took him a minute to figure out why everyone was laughing and pointing at his head.

99 Problems is almost a deliberate provocation to simpleminded listeners. If that sounds crazy, you have to understand: Being misunderstood is almost a badge of honor in rap. Growing up as a black kid from the projects, you can spend your whole life being misunderstood, followed around department stores, looked at funny, accused of crimes you didn't commit, accused of motivations you don't have, dehumanized -- until you realize, one day, it's not about you. It's the perceptions people had long before you even walked onto the scene. The joke's on them because they're really just fighting phantoms of their own creation. Once you realize that, things get interesting. It's like when we were kids. You'd start bopping hard and throwing the ice grill when you step into Macy's and laugh to yourself when security guards got nervous and started shadowing you. You might have a knot of cash in your pocket, but you boost something anyway, just for the sport of it. Fuck 'em. Sometimes the mask is to hide and sometimes it's to play at being something you're not so you can watch the reactions of people who believe the mask is real. Because that's when they reveal themselves. So many people can't see that every great rapper is a not just a documentarian, but a trickster -- that every great rapper has a little bit of Chuck and a little bit of Flav in them -- but that's not our problem, it's their failure: the failure, or unwillingness, to treat rap like art, instead of acting like it's a bunch of niggas reading out of their diaries. Art elevates and refines and transforms experience. And sometimes it just fucks with you for the fun of it.

Productivity is now sold as a lifestyle. People hustle away and grind for the sake of grinding. New calendars. New dry erase markers. New journals. But when they write in advanced journals, they write of goals and next steps— never of thoughts and secrets. When they write of goals, their goals are to have more goals. So you abandon the empty castle that is productivity and enter the little cottage of your funny heart.

I'd asked Dad for the millionth time if, now that I had a baby brother, I could stay in New York.........and Dad for the millionth time replied I had signed a contract and had to stick to it; when Michael said "Actually, sir, legally, minors can't enter into contracts, and so according to New York State law, you cannot hold Mia to any document she might have signed, as she was under sixteen at the time, making it invalid.

Booger crap!” I cry, stooping to gather everything up. Wait, did I just say that out loud? “Here, let me help,” says Evan. As he kneels beside me, I catch the scents of peppermint and laundry detergent. “Did you just say booger crap?” he adds. I nod, mortified. Why do Dad’s goofy swears always have to pop out of my mouth at the worst times? But Evan laughs as he gets to his feet, his arms full of paper towels. “That’s funny. I think I might have to use that sometime.

Records made ‘at one sitting’ sound so fresh now – because the rate of discovery and the emotional tempo match those of the listener. What’s infuriating, though, is how fragile those fabrics are. I’ve noticed that, trying to work on improvisations that have ‘something’, they very quickly dissolve into nothing the more attention they get. It’s almost like trying to reconstruct a very funny dinner party – you had to be there, and it’s impossible to isolate the chemistry of what really made it work.

FRIDAY, APRIL 2, 1943 Dearest Kitty, Oh my, another item has been added to my list of sins. Last night I was lying in bed, waiting for Father to tuck me in and say my prayers with me, when Mother came into the room, sat on my bed and asked very gently, “Anne, Daddy isn’t ready. How about if I listen to your prayers tonight?” “No, Momsy,” I replied. Mother got up, stood beside my bed for a moment and then slowly walked toward the door. Suddenly she turned, her face contorted with pain, and said, “I don’t want to be angry with you. I can’t make you love me!” A few tears slid down her cheeks as she went out the door. I lay still, thinking how mean it was of me to reject her so cruelly, but I also knew that I was incapable of answering her any other way. I can’t be a hypocrite and pray with her when I don’t feel like it. It just doesn’t work that way. I felt sorry for Mother—very, very sorry—because for the first time in my life I noticed she wasn’t indifferent to my coldness. I saw the sorrow in her face when she talked about not being able to make me love her. It’s hard to tell the truth, and yet the truth is that she’s the one who’s rejected me. She’s the one whose tactless comments and cruel jokes about matters I don’t think are funny have made me insensitive to any sign of love on her part. Just as my heart sinks every time I hear her harsh words, that’s how her heart sank when she realized there was no more love between us. She cried half the night and didn’t get any sleep. Father has avoided looking at me, and if his eyes do happen to cross mine, I can read his unspoken words: “How can you be so unkind? How dare you make your mother so sad!” Everyone expects me to apologize, but this is not something I can apologize for, because I told the truth, and sooner or later Mother was bound to find out anyway. I seem to be indifferent to Mother’s tears and Father’s glances, and I am, because both of them are now feeling what I’ve always felt. I can only feel sorry for Mother, who will have to figure out what her attitude should be all by herself. For my part, I will continue to remain silent and aloof, and I don’t intend to shrink from the truth, because the longer it’s postponed, the harder it will be for them to accept it when they do hear it! Yours, Anne

This is highly inappropriate,' I muttered. His answering chuckle stroked my nerves in all the wrong- and right- ways. 'More inappropriate than you masquerading as a wholly different kind of maid at the Red Pearl?' My jaw snapped shut so quickly and tightly, I was surprised I didn't crack a molar. 'Or more inappropriate than the night of the Rite, when you let me-' 'Shut up,' I hissed. 'I'm not done yet,' he said, his chest pressing against my back. 'What about sneaking off to fight the Craven on the Rise? Or that diary-?' 'I get your point, Hawke. Can you stop talking now?' 'You're the one who started this.' 'Actually, no, I did not.' 'What?' A low laugh left him. 'You said, and I quote, "this is wildly, grossly, irrefutably...' 'Did you just learn what an adverb is today? Because that is not what I said.' Hawke sighed. 'Sorry.' He didn't sound sorry about it at all.

A new idea: during meals I talk more to myself than to the others, which has two advantages. First, they're glad they don't have to listen to my continuous chatter, and second, I don't have to get annoyed by their opinions. I don't think my opinions are stupid but other people do, so it's better to keep them to myself. I apply the same tactic when I have to eat something I loathe. I put the dish in front of me, pretend it's delicious, avoid looking at it as much as possible, and it's gone before I've had time to realize what it is. When I get up in the morning, another very disagreeable moment, I leap out of bed, think to myself, "You'll be slipping back under the covers soon," walk to the window, take down the blackout screen, sniff at the crack until I feel a bit of fresh air, and I'm awake. I strip the bed as fast as I can so I won't be tempted to go back in. Do you know what Mother calls this sort of thing? The art of living. Isn't that a funny expression?

Korie: I met Willie for the first time when we were in the third grade at Camp Ch-Yo-Ca, the camp I grew up at. Willie and Jase went to my session of the camp, and Alan came for high school week. Kay was cooking in the kitchen that summer, so her boys could attend the camp for free. I remember thinking Willie was the cutest thing I had ever seen and was so funny. We called him by his middle name, Jess, at the time. He had these big dimples and the cutest sideways smile. I had a diary that I never really wrote in, but that summer, I wrote: “I met a boy at summer camp and he was so cute. He asked me on the moonlight hike and I said ‘yes’!” I even wrote “Korie Loves Jess” on the bunk of the cabin I was staying in that summer. Yes, Willie asked me to go on the moonlight hike with him. It was always a big deal every summer figuring out which boy was going to ask you to accompany him on the moonlight hike, and I was thrilled when he asked me! Willie was definitely my first crush.

I’ve been allowed to read more grown-up books lately. Eva’s Youth by Nico van Suchtelen is currently keeping me busy. I don’t think there’s much of a difference between this and books for teenage girls. Eva thought that children grew on trees, like apples, and that the stork plucked them off the tree when they were ripe and brought them to the mothers. But her girlfriend’s cat had kittens and Eva saw them coming out of the cat, so she thought cats laid eggs and hatched them like chickens, and that mothers who wanted a child also went upstairs a few days before their time to lay an egg and brood on it. After the babies arrived, the mothers were pretty weak from all that squatting. At some point, Eva wanted a baby too. She took a wool scarf and spread it on the ground so the egg could fall into it, and then she squatted down and began to push. She clucked as she waited, but no egg came out. Finally, after she’d been sitting for a long time, something did come, but it was a sausage instead of an egg. Eva was embarrassed. She thought she was sick. Funny, isn’t it?

Is this weird?" she asked with a satisfied sigh. Jay shook his head. "Nah," he answered, rubbing his hand along the sensitive skin of her arm. "It was gonna happen eventually. I'm just glad it's finally out there...I was getting tired of waiting." Violet was confused. Out there? What the hell was that supposed to mean? It was going to happen eventually? How could he have known what was going to happen? She wiggled out from beneath him. "What do you mean, you were tried of waiting? Waiting for what, exactly?" She propped herself back up on her elbow as she interrogated him, waiting for an answer. He let the question linger between them for longer than he needed to, deliberately teasing Violet as she waited impatiently. But when he finally did answer her, it proved to be well worth the minor annoyance. "I was just waiting for you to want me as much as I wanted you." His words were quiet but carried one hell of an impact. "I knew we were going to be together; it was just a matter of time. I kept hoping that you would figure it out. But for a smart girl, you're a little dense, Vi. I kept bringing up Lissie Adams, and showing you the notes she was leaving me, hoping that you'd get pissed enough to finally admit how you felt about me." Lissie Adams. Just hearing the other girl's name made Violet bristle enviously, causing her to shiver. She rubbed her arms protectively and hoped that Jay didn't notice. "What makes you think I was feeling anything?" she asked him suspiciously, as if he'd somehow read her mind. If she had been the kind of girl who kept a diary, she would have sworn that he'd picked the lock and read it word for word. He grinned at her. "Because you did," he stated matter-of-factly. "I know, because I did, and there was just no way that you didn't feel it too." She didn't bother denying it and instead asked, "So you used Lissie to make me jealous?" She tried to sound indignant, but it was difficult when what she really wanted to do was dance around her room triumphantly. She wondered what Lissie would think if she could see them now, together on Violet's bed. "No, I tried to use Lissie. But apparently you're more pigheaded than I gave you credit for. I thought for sure that would do it. Instead, it backfired on me, and you agreed to go to the dance with...someone else." He gritted his teeth, probably without even realizing it, as he choked out the words, unable to actually say Grady's name. "And when I realized you were going with him, I figured the only way I was going to get to see you that night was to ask Lissie to go with me. I figured I could sneak in at least one dance with you." Violet couldn't help it-she giggled. Just a little. It was just too much. The whole thing. Jay trying to trick her into revealing her feelings for him. Grady trying to kiss her last night. And then this...now...she and Jay cuddled up together on her bed...making out. It was crazy. "You think that's funny, huh?" He seemed a little bent that she was laughing at him. "Joke's on me, I guess," she said, serious now. "I get to sit at home, while you and Lissie Adams go to Homecoming." She tried to sound like it was no big deal, but the truth was that it stung more than she wanted it to. Jay reached up and wrapped his hand around the back of her neck. He pulled her toward him, staring her in the eye as they closed the distance between them. Violet felt an agonizing thrill at just being so hear him again. "I called her last night to cancel after I dropped you off." His voice was thick and husky, giving her chills. "I told her I was going to the dance with you instead.

metastases has become talk of a few months left. When I saw her in A&E, despite obvious suspicions, I didn’t say the word ‘cancer’ – I was taught that if you say the word even in passing, that’s all a patient remembers. Doesn’t matter what else you do, utter the C-word just once and you’ve basically walked into the cubicle and said nothing but ‘cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer’ for half an hour. And not that you’d ever want a patient to have cancer of course, I really really didn’t want her to. Friendly, funny, chatty – despite the litres of fluid in her abdomen splinting her breathing – we were like two long-lost pals finding themselves next to each other at a bus stop and catching up on all our years apart. Her son has a place at med school, her daughter is at the same school my sister went to, she recognized my socks were Duchamp. I stuck in a Bonanno catheter to take off the fluid and admitted her to the ward for the day team to investigate. And now she’s telling me what they found. She bursts into tears, and out come all the ‘will never’s, the crushing realization that ‘forever’ is just a word on the front of Valentine’s cards. Her son will qualify from medical school – she won’t be there. Her daughter will get married – she won’t be able to help with the table plan or throw confetti. She’ll never meet her grandchildren. Her husband will never get over it. ‘He doesn’t even know how to work the thermostat!’ She laughs, so I laugh. I really don’t know what to say. I want to lie and tell her everything’s going to be fine, but we both know that it won’t. I hug her. I’ve never hugged a patient before – in fact, I think I’ve only hugged a grand total of five people, and one of my parents isn’t on that list – but I don’t know what else to do. We talk about boring practical things, rational concerns, irrational concerns, and I can see from her eyes it’s helping her. It suddenly strikes me that I’m almost certainly the first person she’s opened up to about all this, the only one she’s been totally honest with. It’s a strange privilege, an honour I didn’t ask for. The other thing I realize is that none of her many, many concerns are about herself; it’s all about the kids, her husband, her sister, her friends. Maybe that’s the definition of a good person.

ACT I Dear Diary, I have been carrying you around for a while now, but I didn’t write anything before now. You see, I didn’t like killing that cow to get its leather, but I had to. Because I wanted to make a diary and write into it, of course. Why did I want to write into a diary? Well, it’s a long story. A lot has happened over the last year and I have wanted to write it all down for a while, but yesterday was too crazy not to document! I’m going to tell you everything. So where should we begin? Let’s begin from the beginning. I kind of really want to begin from the middle, though. It’s when things got very interesting. But never mind that, I’ll come to it in a bit. First of all, my name is Herobrine. That’s a weird name, some people say. I’m kinda fond of it, but that’s just me I suppose. Nobody really talks to me anyway. People just refer to me as “Him”. Who gave me the name Herobrine? I gave it to myself, of course! Back in the day, I used to be called Jack, but it was such a run-of-the-mill name, so I changed it. Oh hey, while we’re at the topic of names, how about I give you a name, Diary? Yeah, I’m gonna give you a name. I’ll call you… umm, how does Doris sound? Nah, very plain. I must come up with a more creative name. Angela sounds cool, but I don’t think you’ll like that. Come on, give me some time. I’m not used to coming up with awesome names on the fly! Yes, I got it! I’ll call you Moony, because I created you under a full moon. Of course, that’s such a perfect name! I am truly a genius. I wish people would start appreciating my intellect. Oh, right. The story, right, my bad. So Moony, when it all started, I was a miner. Yep, just like 70% of the people in Scotland. And it was a dull job, I have to say. Most of the times, I mined for coal and iron ore. Those two resources were in great need at my place, that’s why so many people were miners. We had some farmers, builders, and merchants, but that was basically it. No jewelers, no booksellers, no restaurants, nothing. My gosh, that place was boring! I had always been fascinated by the idea of building. It seemed like so much fun, creating new things from other things. What’s not to like? I wanted to build, too. So I started. It was part-time at first, and I only did it when nobody was around. Whenever I got some free time on my hands, I spent it building stuff. I would dig out small caves and build little horse stables and make boats and all. It was so much fun! So I decided to take it to the next level and left my job as a miner. They weren’t paying me well, anyway. I traveled far and wide, looking for places to build and finding new materials. I’m quite the adrenaline junkie, I soon realized, always looking for an adventure.

One of the class leaders was working on the front desk in a Disney resort at the time of the incident. The housekeeper had encountered something very rare. She knocked on the door and, having gotten no response from any guests inside the room, opened it to reveal a cow standing between the beds and the TV. If you think that’s funny, then it gets better: this room was on the second floor, and whoever put the cow there had to get it onto Disney property and past all the cast members working at the resort, before taking it to the second floor. The moral of the story: EXPECT EVERYTHING.

Steve walks funny too. I tried walking like him once. And a villager started talking to me. I didn’t know what to do. So I ran away. But even though he’s weird, Steve is

Richard the director was talking to the cameraman and soundman so I thought that this was a good time to get out my toilet that I had taken with me. I say ‘toilet’; it was a camping chair that I had cut a hole into where I could place a bin bag. I went to my tent to get it to discover it wasn’t there. I went mad at Richard telling him that it wasn’t funny and wanted to know who had taken it. He said he didn’t know what I was talking about. I asked Wilder and he acted the same way. I then went and looked in every tent but couldn’t find it. I asked Wilder again and said if the others had told him to hide it he must tell me where as I had gone to a lot of trouble buying, altering and carrying it to the jungle. He took me into the woods where a path had already been cut and the chair set up. I thought he had done it especially for me until I noticed a small M&S bag next to the chair. Someone had already used it. I thought it may have been a joke and that the bag just contained soil so picked it up to check. I hadn’t even undone the knot fully when the stench hit me. Someone had used it.

I went outside the cave today! I actually went outside the cave! Was it scary? Yes. Was I supposed to leave the cave? No. But I’m old enough, I don’t care what the others say! It all started because I was standing at the mouth of the cave watching the rain. All night it had stormed. BOOM BOOM and BANG BANG and lightning! Oh, Diary, all the creepers in the cave were scared but not me! No way. Well, okay, I’ll tell you a secret, Diary, I was scared…but only a little! I’m not a baby

OTHER BOOKS BY THE MINECRAFTY FAMILY Don’t miss out on a single exciting moment of Wimpy Steve’s hilarious adventures INSIDE Minecraft! Collect ‘em all!   Diary of a Wimpy Steve: Trapped in Minecraft! (Book 1) Diary of a Wimpy Steve: Horsing Around! (Book 2) Diary of a Wimpy Steve: In the Dog House! (Book 3) Diary of a Wimpy Steve: Lots of Ocelots! (Book 4)   WIMPY STEVE ESSENTIAL COMPANION BOOKS Diary of a Wimpy Steve: Book 1 Activities! (Book 1.5) Diary of a Wimpy Steve: Book 2 Activities! (Book 2.5) Diary of a Wimpy Steve: Book 3 Activities! (Book 3.5) Diary of a Wimpy Steve: Book 4 Activities! (Book 4.5) Minecraft Jokes for Kids! Even More Minecraft Jokes for Kids! Minecraft Memes and Funny Pictures! Diary of a Wimpy Steve: Valentines for Kids!   COMING SOON Book 5: Click here to be notified when it’s ready! DIARY OF A WIMPY STEVE: TRAPPED IN MINECRAFT!

tents as well as girls’. Betty kept calling out to me and sent flying

16thJune, 2015 You are never going to believe what happened today. We got to Fred’s house in the morning; even a little earlier than we planned. He was crying puddles, the poor fellow! His father had vanished, and he still hadn’t come home. Fred reckoned that he was probably aimlessly walking around the city. We went with him to the hospital to visit his mother. The hospital looked like a dead place, all white and ugly and it stank of that Lysol/antiseptic smell. It smelled so clean, I was worried that I would fart and the stink would kill people! And you know what? The exact opposite happened! See, we went into the room where Fred’s mother was being kept. Fred was really upset