A journal I guess

MISSED ME?

FEELIN GOOD? FEELIN SASSY? VERY GOOD, MY LITTLE RABBITS. NOW NOW, DON'T GO FEELING TOO EXCITED. I'M NOT HERE TO PLAY THIS TIME.

I ALMOST JUST KILLED THAT FUCKING ROASTED CHICKEN AGAIN, WITH ITS BEADY EYES AND "GWAKS" JUST BEGGING ME TO TEAR ITS VOCAL CORDS OUT. THAT LITTLE SHIT BELONGS IN A POT. LUCKILY, I'M FEELING EXTRA GENEROUS TONIGHT.

LOOK AT ME GO. AHAHAHA. TOO BAD, TOO SAD. YOUR DEAR OL' HABIT'S PISSED.

I HEAR A CERTAIN SOMEONE HAS BEEN STIRRING THE POT A LITTLE TOO MUCH LATELY. TSK TSK, THAT WASN'T THE DEAL WE MADE, WAS IT? SOMETIMES THE GUT SOUP NEEDS TO BOIL OVER. GETS RID OF THE BACTERIA. FORTUNATELY FOR YOU, I'M A GENTLEMAN, AND I KEEP MY PROMISES. I EXPECT HOSPITALITY. BUY A SHIT LOAD OF REESE'S AND THEN WE CAN TALK. WHAT A FUCKING MORON, GOING AGAINST A GOD. WHAT ELSE IS NEW, AMIRIGHT?

YOU REALLY THOUGHT YOU COULD RUN. I'D BE ENTERTAINED, I REALLY WOULD BE, IF STICK IN THE MUD DIDN'T HAVE SUCH A GIANT BRANCH UP ITS ASS. YOU KNOW, I'D BE A FUCKING BITCH TOO, IF I HAD A BRANCH UP MY ASS.

SILLY RABBIT. YOU CAN'T OUTRUN YOUR BAD HABITS.

SIGNING OFF,

HABIT.

P.S. CALL ME, YOU FUCKING CUNT. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.