Fans of the deceitful Weetabix,
My name is Disco The Kid. Weet and I know each other very well because we both used to belong to an elite group of journal writers who all thought we were better than all of you, of course that was before I quit the group and found Jesus. You think you know who Weetabix is? You have no idea. I have to tell you that you have all been had! You have all been shamboozled, shenanigan-ed, even been privy to exclusive and sinister hyjinx!
I have stolen Weetabix’s password and taken over her god-forsaken diary because she is the first on my list to be out-ed. I was once like Weetabix. That is why I must tell you all the truth. You guys pop over here day after day to peek into a little world that is presented in a VERY charming and almost Laura Ingles-esque fashion. You don’t see this bitch when she is walking the halls of the American offices of 12% Beer biting her nails and calling us all ‘sheep-fucking shit eaters.’ You don’t hear about the assistant she hired to tweak her nipples so she always looks ‘happy’ on camera. You don’t hear how she refers to her readers as ‘the customers.’
I have since quit that writer’s group in an attempt to save my own soul because we are/were nothing short of an international liars club who psychologically (and some of us even monetarily) benefit from your undying attention!
Before I go any further let me share with you all an email I received from Weetabix just recently when she thought I was ‘on the level.’
Dear Disco,
I need you to update my diary for me today. Now don’t argue with all that ‘I’m so busy with my Sars comic’ crap because no one thinks that shit is funny but you. Besides, we both know that you are on the Internet twenty-four hours a day luring little boys to that convenient store near your house.
(That was before I found Jesus. Lord be praised!)
I have to go get my hair dyed because my kid is coming home from that private school I shipped him off to and the little bastard is probably going to ask me a bunch of stupid questions like, Can I have some money? Or ‘Is my daddy really dead?’ So write a bunch of pretty crap and tell those fucking parasites how honored you are that I let plankton like you write in my journal! Don’t let me down or I’ll tell THE KINGPIN.
WEET
You see, our Internet fame made us drunk with power and sin while we made up fictional lives for ourselves and even began researching appropriate writing styles for our assumed alias’. You can’t let these animals get away with this any longer! I am glad that I can help put a stop to this madness. I hope you and my lord will forgive me for my past indiscretions. I am a changed man.
The rest is up to you.
Jesus loves you,
P.S: That fucking Sundry is next!
