What’s up, diary?
The crisis has begun.
In a BIG way.
Just a little while ago my clumsy dad got around to weighing himself on the bathroom scale.
It turns out he’s gained seven pounds.
“Seven pounds!” Dad screamed.
“The new diet starts NOW! Only soup and water for a month.”
“Oh, I feel so sorry for you,” I laughed.
“Too bad the diet goes for all three of us,” Dad said.
“Oh, I feel so sorry for me,” I cried.
I tried to convince Dad that he looks a lot better with seven extra pounds.
He didn’t believe me. So I tried a tougher approach.
“If you’re fat,” I said, “it doesn’t have a thing to do with me. Get it through your head, old man!”
“I’m the one who buys the food in the house,” Dad answered. “Get it through your head, pipsqueak.”
Now for the first time I understand what the phrase “exploitation of the people” means.
In a very short time I’m going to look like an x-ray of myself.
I’m going to end up lying like a twig on the sidewalk begging for bread crumbs.
The social-service department will have to pick me up and take care of me and the newspaper will write a scandalous article about the whole tragedy.
There’s going to be a riot,
if we stay on this diet!