[center] The journal is painted in frayed, frantic handwriting -- it's spine is falling apart, it's binding made of a cheap, synthetic leather -- and the only thing keeping it from disintegrating appears to be a heavy amount of tape and too much glue, that has hardened into studs along the back and sides of the strange thing. On the first page of the book, or rather, on the inside of the cover -- there is a CID stapled to it -- it's surface grimy, and it's numbers skewed slightly to show how old it is, above it, there is a photo of what is assumed to be the owner of the beaten down journal  [url=https://i.imgur.com/Mv8kYvr.png][img]https://i.imgur.com/Mv8kYvr.png[/img][/url] [size=150][b]CID PICTURE[/b][/size] [i][size=100]Dear.. Self? Self. Boy I never thought I'd write to you -- weird, I know -- but currently the world has taken a nice big [/size][/i][i]bekak on us, and while I may be exaggerating bietjie-baie, it's nearly the truth. Now I'm not a bossie, and I never will be, but you've got to see where yourself is coming from. Anyways, right uh, hopefully I'm sympathetic enough to myself to understand the state of mind I'm currently in -- let's get started, huh?[/i] [i][size=100]As much as I'd like to buk my head and wait to starve, it's never been my fancy -- especially when I used to have a right [/size][/i][i]choty goty; but she's long gone, and with her both my pride and fok weet[/i] [i]what else. Probably got a [/i][i]gat velle brand for talking like some kaalgat commie, but the ouballie is long gone, and it's just me at this point. I'm no papgat either, and I'm getting the feeling that the people around here can really plak it -- though I've gotta be nice and lekker to everyone, or I'll get the wrong end of a stick to the noggin from those gasmask-lads. It's right and miff, I say -- but what am I going to do? Can't even skommel these days without filling some kind of right chop[/i] [i]forum[/i], [i]and it's driving me nuts -- I'm beginning to think that this[/i] [i]kak journal will be filled with my whining and nothing else. Hopefully not, but I'll stop writing now -- my wrist is hurting like I just skoppped a [/i][i]Mugla tree. God help me.[/i] [/center]

[i][center]Entry No. 2[/center] I could really use a gif-stick right about now, and he [b]promised[/b] me [/i][i]lank of the dof stuff -- but he, and there's no sense in hiding the mompie's name anymore. Raven-makes-me-want-to-kots Blackfield -- I'm afraid I don't have enough words in the English language to describe him. Luckily, I speak two languages. So, allow me: This [/i][i]fook-weet drol, buggering about and tying to make me and the rest of the Crows all slapgats with a right fok'd head and a[/i] [i]kak-assed plan, with malhuis-personality[/i] [i]he dug out of his spuitpoep[/i]. [i]I'd steek him if he wasn't already fokken six-feet under, while we've gotta hol it to not be caught up in this kak-storm. Fok.  Now that that's over, I'll get on getting-on. Marked MALIGNANT now, yay me -- I'm right [/i][i]noppies about the whole prospect; gonna have to lay down with the rest of my jan allermen. Never thought it would go this south, this fast, and not to [/i][i]span die wa voor die perde, but I've got a decent mind to slap some sense into Sergi when he comes out of his kak-faced coma. Never thought cursing so much in a journal would stop you from doing it in real life, but hey, better than being like Raven. Which is dead, by the way. On less-murdery-news, some [/i][i]laf'mal woman called 'Midnight' visited me net-nou, since it's about one-ish when I'm writing. She was a right papgat, tiny and skinny -- had a look in her eye I didn't quite like; but I'd probably less on-edge if I had some skyfs -- guess that's not happening, is it? Anyways, she's kak-pretty, but my eye for women is long gone -- and all that woman did was play some ball, beat me in said ballgame, and then smash a cup against my knee because it was funny to her. World's gone mad, I say.[/i]