Dear diary
only fifty eight days till my birthday.
I hate having my birthday on the same day as Christmas. It's shit. I only get one lot of presents, even though those sycophantic wankers, the three wise men, keep telling me, "We spent twice as much on each present to compensate."
I'll compensate them. I'll turn their wine into piss, that's what I'll do. See how they like that.
I hate Christmas, I do.
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