Dear Diary (March 17, 2007)

Dear Diary,

I don’t know why everybody wants to know all about how much I shit. Just because my name is Erin P, and the P stands for Pooper, doesn’t mean that people should keep asking me about my butthole and how it’s doing. I’m glad everybody is concerned because frankly so am I.  I need all of my friends, family, co-workers, customers, strangers on the street, and the teller at my bank to know that I really take a lot of shits. I only pee twice a day no matter how much water I drink. I am just a fuckin giant shit machine. If I didn’t shit every ten minutes I’d explode, and that would be a huge mess becuase not only do I dookie many times, but they are huge. I’m talking GIANT BOMBS OF FECES.

My scrapbooking is getting way out of control. I spend to much money on poloroid film to add pictures of my monster turds to my scrap book. I’ve had to get a second job just to buy film and glue. I really just need a man who has a soft touch, and a large shovel. Prefferably one of those ones that zoo keepers have to pick up elephant poo. Having to shit in public is a terrible thing, I have to sit backwards on the toilet (otherwise known as an A.C Slater) facing the tank so I can hold the handle down on a constant flush. The toilets just fill up way too fast.

Thats why my toilet at home is like this big airplane/J-John so it’s basically a hole with some suction. Have you ever seen the show ’you can’t say that on television?',  well if you have, you know the green stuff that comes down on the people when they say something you aren’t supposed to say? Imagine that, but brown and beef stew’like’(chunks and all).

Well, diary, it’s that time again. I wish I could write more, but my butthole is throbbing so I better go destroy China.

Smooches-
Erin