| Don't worry. It's just gas. |
8/20/2003 |
by Jon
Recently I have been studying the aromatic works of one Robert the Frost. That famous New England poet who wrote about snow and the horses who like to travel through it. While searching through his work I was delighted to find some of his earlier writings including some never before read journal entries from when he was a child in New Hampshire. These entries are fascinating, revealing the true self conscious Robert Frost, I thought I would post a few to share with you, my friend.
October 5th 1879 I hate my name. I asked Patricia out for an ice cream soda and a walk around my farm. I wrote her a poem comparing her beauty to that of the wonderful mating ritual of the goose who lives behind my house. She ripped it up in front of my face, punched me in the mouth and called me Frosty the blows man. Then suggested that I write poetry about my inability to grow pubic hair. It was hurtful.
December 12th 1879 I think instead or writing poetry, I should come up with funny T-shirts, like ones that say “No fat Chicks” and “Peter Pan Rules”.
December 30th 1879 I ran out of soap today in the shower and I had to use my mom’s liquid soap and weird poof thing. It was horrible, so so horrible. I could feel the other guy’s eyes on me in the locker room. I know what they were thinking; no man should be that soft and manageable. NO MAN!
February 3rd 1880 I had a dream last night that I was eaten by a bear. But instead of dying, my soul took over the bear and I became the mayor of Bearville. I thought it was a deep metaphorical message, but I told my mom about it and she said I was retarded and refused to let me eat breakfast.
June 25th 1880 I think I might be gay.
June 26th 1880 No it was gas. But I think I might actually be growing pubes.
June 27th 1880 Nope, I was wrong. I’m gay.
Wow.
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