Dear Diary,
Maybe it's the Creme de Menthe talking, I don't know. But I feel sad.
It's a cruel world out there. Young kids are taking magic way too seriously; they see it as some kind of career. That's a canard, little chickens, magic is a joke. A little known, tight angled joke. If you aren't in the know, then I can't help you.
I'm reminded of my grand-nephew, Frankie. He was tempted to go off at the deep end with this magic stuff, until his father, Tommy "The Psycho" Trollo, beat the living fucking shit out of him.
It put him on the right path, but with fewer brain cells.
I dunno. Life doesn't get any easier. Not when you're several thousand years old, with a few millennia left to run.
My advice, after all this living and dying? Learn to take it easy.
That's right. Let the tension release from your body. Breathe out. That's right.
AND NOW KEEP IN YOUR MOTHER FUCKING HEAD THAT I'M THE FUCKING KING!! I'M BARRY SOLAYME, SO HELP ME GOD!!!
KEEP THAT THOUGHT IN YOUR FRICKING SKULL, YOU SHIT WIT, MY NAME IS BARRY SO-FUCKING-LAYME!!!
Aaaaaand...... you're back in the room.
BS