Day Four-Hundred-Eighteen: AHAHAUsgd

Oh, oh, diary.

Oh GODS the diary.

FUNNY

SO FUNNY

DIARY

I SHEDS THE TEARS

STAINS

YOURS

I MEAN I'S

COVER

AHAHAHAHABALARGHBAL

CONTROL, diary. Control! How's you talk if can't talk? Talk. Talk! Control is talk, and talk is write, and write is… diary. Write is right is diary. Aha, universal constant! I am champion of the universes!

So Drags. See, Drags, he gets idea. From MotherDrags. She says, "Dragomir, if you want your baby t'wake up, you need to give her some outside stimulus. Not those vials you've been making up and tossing out, but physical contact. Touch, ya goof! Rub her sensitive spots and bring her out of that funk!"

Drags now up: "Uuhhh, mom, that sounds… um… really… really…?"

"… please, gods, don't tell me he's misunderstood. Tickle her, you witless politician! Under the armpit! 'n under her feet! You 'n Robert were always ticklish under your feet when you were kids. Here, c'mon, lift your foot up -"

"Mom, I don't - I'm not -"

"Cootchie-cootchie-coo!"

"…"

"Coo… coo… what, nothing?"

"I'm not really ticklish, ma. Maybe you're misrememberin'."

"Bah. Well, try it on her, see what happens. Used ta wake you two up without fail ALL THE TIME when you were littlies."

"I'll give it a shot."

"Let me know how it goes!"

CLICK goes the door. Back to DragsTempHousage. Blondie-blonde, she waits on bed, all mum and "Blargh, I's dead still!"

(Is funny, see, still funny.)

Drags: "Eh… tickle… huh… well, worth a shot. Sorry, sweetie, I hope you don't kill me for this, but it's less offensive than my other cures…"

(I's peek out of bag. Drags move in for the kill, by which I, diary, means the TICKLE.)

"Mmm… feet… well, let's…"

(He's grab the foot. It flops. Not like diary feets - they's wiiiiiiggle.)

"Right… here, I guess - "

He tickles, is Drags, and then SLAM! The foot? It COMES TO LIFES and GETS THE DRAGS IN THE NOSE HOLES! He is go FLY BACK like the FRONT ON FIRE, AND HE LANDS

IN A BUCKET THINGER

AND

AND

BLAAAAHAAHAHAHIYBEIHDH

AGHHRRAHHAAHAOOHOHOohjod

ohhoooh

ooooooooh

woooo

Diary is pleased.

Sorry, Drags. You's fine. Be happy; Blondie-blonde, she differents than before. Others? She cave faces in! 

… 

That's be all bad, diary.

Ya.

Don'ts tickle Blondie-blonde no more, Drags. Kay?

Kay.

Sinceres,

Diary