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Journal

David, age 11


Dear Journal,

Today, the Bogey-Man ate my dog, Fred. Actually, Fred isn't really a dog, he's a lizard-monkey, but that's close enough for me. Anyway, the Bogey-Man then bit off my nose. He smelled horrible, but fortunately, my nose is in his tummy, so I can no longer sniff him. I was able to knock him unconscious by hitting him over the head with a feather, since he was such a weakling. I was then transferred to a school in South America, where I learned to ride wild chickens. But, unfortunately, one of them bit me, and I turned into a werechicken. The South Americans didn't like that very much, so they sent me to a Martian Military Camp on my home planet of Pluto, which I am the Prince of. There, I gained skills in computer-programming, and using my knowlege (as well as my feet) I was able to invent THE CHAIR. Using this invention, I went on an ongoing mission to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no man (or werechicken) has gone before. But I forgot my instruction manual at home, and got stuck in a traffic jam. I am now on the third sun closest to Delta Lrakon VII. I hope the bus gets here soon.