Welcome to my life. Day 5773. Greetings my Glassy-eyed Gladiators. I'm still fuming over Mom's hellish injustice! Haven't said a word to her since she refused to let me go to the Zombieland premiere. In moments when my fury momentarily subsides, I go into a deep, dark depression. A teenager's emotions are a fragile thing and Mom has shattered them. Dad just shrugs. He never stands up to her. 'Pick your battles,' he likes to say. I'm yet to see him pick one! Helen has been fucking with me all night, making Zombie noises outside my door. She's loving this. I'm seriously contemplating running away and joining a circus or something. I could be the chick that gets knives thrown at her. Wouldn't be that much of a change. Maybe they can teach me to throw knives too and I can throw them at my sister. The only person who even remotely seems to sympathize with my agony is Raymond. He made some special brownies again and gave me a couple. But they just seem to magnify my despair. I've been praying to Anne Rice to give me the strength to carry on, but I don't know. Even my Anne Rice altar seems to have lost some of its luster. I don't even want to go see Zombieland now. I mean, of course I do, but not like this! Now I'll have to sneak in after buying a ticket to Cloudy With A Chance Of Meatballs and sit in an empty theater devoid of fellow zombies drooling over eachother's brains. Johnny Shotguns said the film was awesome. Better than Evil Dead (his favorite zombie flick). The theater was packed with zombies all screaming and clapping every time somebody whacked a zombie. I doubt I will ever forgive Mom. How could she be so absolutely insensitive to my needs?! I'm sorry, I can't write any more today. I'm too upset.
Here's David Chalmers singing the Zombie Blues: