:Y :Y :Y :Y :Y :Y :Y :Y :Y :Y  SNEKS!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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 I             I        :Y       I  I       
               I         I         I

Human Citizens of Earth, 

As the Assistant Warden of Galactic Sector IMB452643, I am responsible for your solar system and thus am deeply concerned about the condition in which you are leaving your planet. In your Earth degrees, the average surface temperature of your planet has risen about 0.9℃. (I’m using Celsius here because American measurement systems are weird.) At this rate, the Arctic ice cap will melt by mid-century. That, in case you didn’t realize, means no more polar bears along with a whole host of terrible things. Please don’t wreck your planet. Our sector has had a clean record for millennia. If you ruin that, my boss will blame it on me and Carla from Sector IMB452645 will gloat for ages. 
Here is a list of other reasons to keep the earth alive and healthy, seeing as you apparently need help. 

 Trust me, you will not like Earth better heated. You don’t stick ice cream in the microwave, do you? 

I like potatoes. What can I say? I like them mashed, sliced, even raw sometimes. Potatoes are great. I once had a potato in my kitchen. That potato just sat there for so long. One day I named it. Billy was his name. I brought him upstairs to my room. I would just sit there and talk to this potato. He eventually became known as Billy the Therapist potato. No one knew this but me. On one sad day, my mother came into my room. She saw Billy. I had drawn a little face on dear Billy. My mother thought this was utterly ridiculous. When I got home that day, we had potato soup for dinner. I love potato soup. But after dinner I had gone upstairs to tell my dear Billy about my day… You probably can imagine my horror when I entered my room and Billy was not in his usual place. My mother had fed me my best friend for dinner. I never forgave her. But, I never stopped making little potato friends. One of my creations was a gorgeous rainbow potato. I had loved her very much.

I would like a dog.
it's really a simple request 
just a husky puppy
no more than one.
all you have to do is buy the dog.
I'll buy the food
the leash 
the care for when we travel 
I'll take the time
I'll brush it
I'll pet it
I'll walk it
I'll love it. 
just get me this frick'n dog.
that's all I want 
I'll raise it
train it
feed it 
play with it 
I'll be it's dog parent
so when you buy this dog 
you've found away to buy my happiness. 
that's pretty special if you ask me.
so buy me this frick'n dog!

ASH BLUNT'S ROOM

maybelle Peterson, typing. . . 

the small screen stares up at me through the darkness of 2 am, 'how can she still be typing?' I wonder "she's been at it for three whole minutes now, I mean, how hard is it to say yes or no?' finally my phone emits it's weird little beep and I receive a message that's practicaly two miles long. "what the. . ." I trail off as I begin to read the text message that may or may not ruin my weekend. 

There you are, minding your own business when the new girl who happens to be drop dead gorgeous sits at a desk across from you. She has only been attending your school for 1 day so she is sort of shy. Bad news… so are you. You and your socially awkward self starts to sweat, and sweat, and sweat, and then sweat a little more. You keep sweating profusely until New Girl scrunches her nose, looks over at you, and gets out of her seat to escape the overwhelming scent of B.O. You don’t blame her. If you could move away from yourself right now… you would. To make things even more hopeless, she goes and sits next to “hot boy Chad”. He is the captain of the soccer team and as much as you hate to admit it, he’s a total hunk! Boys want to be him and girls want to be with him. The only thing he lacks is a brain. Oh no! Chad turns to the new girl and starts talking. It only takes New Girl a few minutes to start batting her eyelashes, biting her bottom lip, and playing with her hair.

It's interesting, really, that a sandwich sounds appetizing to you, because you've never—never, in all of your 15 years—liked sandwiches before. Sure, cheeseburgers and grilled cheese have always been hits, but... Deli meat with lettuce and cheese between two pieces of bread? Wow. And sauce? Since when have you tolerated sauce? When you were younger (maybe even a week ago), you picked apart your sandwiches and ate each layer one by one. First the meat, then the lettuce, then the tomatoes, saving the cheese (if it was good cheese) for last... and maybe you'd eat a slice of the bread. If it was nice bread, and it wasn't covered in sauce.
Somehow, out of the blue, you've decided that you like sandwiches. Whole. Eaten together, even if you did scrape the sauce off.
It's like you're a new person, inducted into the world of Normal People. Normal People who eat their sandwiches the way they're supposed to be eaten.

April 25, 2019
*ahem* WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!?

April 26, 2019
Dear Diary, Allow me to clarify from yesterday. Why, dear God, did you allow school to be this terrible?! With AP exams, SATs, chorus concerts, track meets, various club/society meetings, finals, science NECAPs, marching practice, mini school concerts, AND prom on everyone's mind, how can we be expect us to focus things like... friends. Or, healthy eating and sleeping. Or like grades. Wow, who'da thunk that even with our terrible class, we're all almost seniors. We need to step up our game, I'm the who do pretty much everything
.
April 27, 2019
Dear Diary,
We now continue with our regularly scheduled program: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHJJJJ 

I have been wanting to dye my hair for a while, but I was worried about what other people would think of me. Eventually, I got up the nerve to dye my hair, so I went to the store and bought the big yellow bottle that obnoxiously said DYE on it in big blue letters. As soon as I bought it, I went home and dyed my hair with the dye I bought before I had any second thoughts. But as soon as I rinsed out the excess dye, I knew something was wrong. Seriously wrong. My hair was dry, much more than it is supposed to be and it is drying out more and more. I grabbed the bottle and voraciously read the fine print. Turns out it wasn’t hair dye, but DYE standing for Dissolving Yellow Elixer, which is a strange company who makes a patented acid that is safe on skin. I learned the hard way that it is not safe for hair, for my hair is so dry it just physically disappearing from the earth. I am so bald now that I couldn’t have done a better job if I went to a barber to get my head shaved. Whoops.