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Diary entry fifty one
 
In England we have (had) a show called 'Art Attack' with Neil Buchanan.
Every now and then in a very public place he would take millions of pieces
of materials and objects and forge them masterfully into a huge picture that
could be viewed from above.
 
Out of nowhere would come a penguin made out of
traffic cones or something. Then the policeman guarding the site would chase
off the pesky Neil and he'd run off coyly. That Neil! He must have had a
compulsive disorder to do these 'Big art attacks' or something. He must have been awkward at a
funeral or a twelve car pile-up, where his wife is screaming to call the police. He unbuckles his safe belt
and climbs out of the car. "NEIL NO!!!!" Screams his wife, but it's too late. He has begun.
 
Well anyway, I was bored as gosh darn heck, as always. It was a Sunday,
where I purposely do as little training as possible. And I was in a mood
which requires just lying on the floor. My floor is now luxuriously covered
in these stupid animal tile things, which are for kids to take apart and put
together to STIMULATE THEIR MINDS.
 
So I decided to make a Big Art Attack
using these pieces. And for some reason I decided to make an old nemesis of
mine that's name shakes me to my innermost - The Roosterman.
Roosterman was half man half rooster, he lived outside and made stupid
noises at four o' clock every morning. He sounds like on of the zombies from
Halflife 2, going "Scooby dooby doo".
 
 
More specifically it sounds like a man
who just goes to great lengths to stand outside and make bone-chilling
noises that would wake us up.
 
So I made him. Out of boredom. And what's even more boring, is that I chose
to write about making him.
 
Conclusion: I'M LOSING MY MIND
 
Oh yeah. Kids, me and your mother have some news - I've managed to do a back
summersault (or a backflip for you crazy Yanks changing the original
meanings of words.) on my own, no support or nowt. I still don't feel
comfortable doing them though. Yeesh. I nearly had a heart attack.
 
 
 
PS: Seriously, why the hell does anyone continue to read this garbage!? I'M
WRITING ABOUT HOW I DON'T DO ANYTHING.
 
 
 
 

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