Tom Brokaw Diaries 7 - 9
Dear Dairy, I bet that if I had to arm wrestle David Letterman I would kick his ass. He may rule the late night airwaves, but he is no match for these guns! I have been working out. My biceps are pumped and my triceps are booming! I feel like kicking someone’s ass just to prove I can do it! I wonder if I would get arrested for beating someone up. Let’s say I kicked that asshole from the deli’s ass. God he deserves it Diary. I mean, what part of hold the mayo does he not understand. Anyway, let’s say I kick his ass. I’m Tom Brokaw, right? I mean, surely the police would believe me if I said he started it. It’s not my fault my muscles finished it. I am hungry. I am going to the deli to get sandwich and a six-pack of whoop ass.
Guess who is on YouTube Dairy? Me. Getting hit in the balls by my nephew. It’s been viewed over 3 million times. I don’t think that many people voted in the last election. Is this what the world is coming to Dairy? ANSWER ME! Sorry Diary. I didn’t mean to yell. My balls and my pride hurt.
Dear Diary, It’s me again, Tom Brokaw. Ha ha, I guess it will always be me, won’t it Diary. Sometimes I imagine that you are real Diary. That you are a beautiful woman, with fiery red hair, knowing blue eyes, and a rocking bod. We would lay in my bed, surrounded by candles, our naked bodies glistening in the dancing flames, and I would share my inner most thoughts with you as you ran your fingers across my rippled chest. I would hesitate as I tried to tell you the one thing I have never told a living soul. You would laugh…a laugh that if tangible would resemble your tender hands brushing away a truant hair….and you would say “Silly Thomas, there is nothing you can’t tell me. I know you better than you know yourself!” We both laugh. I pull you closer. I tell you that my darkest secret is that when I was 8 years old, I took a poop behind the sofa…out of pure laziness, and then blamed it on the dog. GOD IT FEELS SO GOOD TO GET THAT OFF MY CHEST DIARY! You kiss me and we make sweet love. When we are finished I stuff you back under my mattress, content with the knowledge that you are my secret, my safe haven, my dearest Diary.
Guess who is on YouTube Dairy? Me. Getting hit in the balls by my nephew. It’s been viewed over 3 million times. I don’t think that many people voted in the last election. Is this what the world is coming to Dairy? ANSWER ME! Sorry Diary. I didn’t mean to yell. My balls and my pride hurt.
Dear Diary, It’s me again, Tom Brokaw. Ha ha, I guess it will always be me, won’t it Diary. Sometimes I imagine that you are real Diary. That you are a beautiful woman, with fiery red hair, knowing blue eyes, and a rocking bod. We would lay in my bed, surrounded by candles, our naked bodies glistening in the dancing flames, and I would share my inner most thoughts with you as you ran your fingers across my rippled chest. I would hesitate as I tried to tell you the one thing I have never told a living soul. You would laugh…a laugh that if tangible would resemble your tender hands brushing away a truant hair….and you would say “Silly Thomas, there is nothing you can’t tell me. I know you better than you know yourself!” We both laugh. I pull you closer. I tell you that my darkest secret is that when I was 8 years old, I took a poop behind the sofa…out of pure laziness, and then blamed it on the dog. GOD IT FEELS SO GOOD TO GET THAT OFF MY CHEST DIARY! You kiss me and we make sweet love. When we are finished I stuff you back under my mattress, content with the knowledge that you are my secret, my safe haven, my dearest Diary.
posted by Biz and/or Jordi @ 2:51 PM
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