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The Secret Diary of a 3 Year Old

Put a blanket on my head and ran into the wall. Screamed with the sheer bloody unfairness of it all. Standard start to the week.
Saw two dogs doing something rather unsavoury to each other outside our house so asked what they were doing and Daddy said they were cuddling but when I pressed him for more details he just blushed and mumbled ‘ask your mother’ as he left the room.
HATED my swimming lesson. Was crying and flapping my arms at Mummy and Daddy as they watched from the side. They smiled and waved back. Cheers for the support, pricks.
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I don’t respond well to deadlines. I’m a poet, man. I’m an artist. Don’t restrict me with your grown up fascist bullshit.
I don’t care what I’m doing, when that beat drops on ‘Five Little Monkeys’ I’m losing my shit. I hope that tune never hits when I’m a brain surgeon because I’d just fuck the scalpel off mid-slice and start busting some moves.
Went swimming again but this time I was screaming because there was a fucking shark in the water and NOBODY WAS DOING ANYTHING ABOUT IT! (Got embarrassed when I realised it was an inflatable swimming aide.)
Apparently manners are important to Big People. But not to me. So they can go fuck themselves.
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