Sorry I keep cutting myself off. It just sort of seems immoral to write about a day that isn’t currently happening, considering this book’s backbone is observation. Then that would make comedy it’s tookus, I guess. It makes you laugh, and sometimes it stinks, but basically it’s just trying to help it all pass through. And in case you didn’t know, tookus means ass. You know, butt. Anus. Rectum. You hopefully understand at least one of those.

Ok, so right now we’re watching this old dude singing opera, so I’m gonna go ahead and take the moment to say a couple of things:

1. I’ve created this piece of work without selfish intent. That meaning that I didn’t write this to “express my emotions through writing,” or “write secrets or confessions.” I’m writing this - this very sentence included - for others to read. I know “Here! Read this piece of sheets from my weird, hormone-ridden teenaged years!” doesn’t sound by any means appealing. But this is NOT a journal, I am NOT a teenager at heart, and there are NO DAMN hormones riding me, Bruce! I don’t know if you’ve got a problem, but if you do, well frankly I just don’t give a shit.

2. If something is to happen to me, as in death or the ability to think, speak, or live on my own behalf, I’ve got a few things that need to happen if at all possible. The most important being, obviously, Reggie. All I want is for his assured happiness, and to be treated not as just a turtle who poops and eats, but someone’s friend. You know, give him a turtle bro to chill with. You know, expand his terrarium a ton, maybe, if it’s a lady, let him *ahem* pass on his genes. I don’t care so much who the owner is. I’d rather it be a friend or family member of mine, but all I need is for someone who will love little Reg like a brother. As for anything non-Reggie related, if I still have my watch, please give it to some sort of successor of mine. I’d rather not have a funeral. If you do/did, it’s totally fine, but it’s just so costly for no reason. Maybe a little home “Yay! Danny was alive!” celebration, which leads me to my next subject. If there is some variation of this, for the love of God someone crack a joke. Those things just get so tense, you know? Not to be non-modest or anything. I wouldn’t want people to be sad about little ol’ me. If you liked me, then be happy I was alive when you think about me. You know, smile. However, if I wasn’t up so high on your love list, then be happy I kicked the bucket. It’s all good, I give you permission. Also, I’d like to be buried*. Again, if I’m already set ablaze, it’s okay, just a preference. If I’m in the ground because of someone else, forgive a brother.

Sorry that this chapter was a tad darker than usual, Bruce. I just needed to get all that off my chest, and anyone else I told that to would look at me funny.