Dear diary,
It has now been three days. Still no DIS. Morale is low, as are supplies. My palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, there's vomit on my sweater already, Mom's spagh-
Wait, sorry.
Anyway, still no DIS. I needed something....ANYTHING. So I decided to do my own rapid fire, but all I ended up doing was seeing how many Reese's Pieces I could shoot into my mouth at one time with a slingshot I made out of office supplies.
I decided I needed "news", but the only Disney news source I could find was a 1984 Birnbaum guide that was stowed away in my parents' basement. Did you guys know that a great time to check out Communicore East is mid-afternoon, to escape the heat and to veer away from the crowds as they make their way to World Showcase? You're welcome.
I tried to do a round table discussion all by myself, but when I started by trying to say "I'm just happy to be here" with a chuckle, the tears started falling....because I WASN'T HAPPY TO BE THERE, sitting at my dining room table in my LSU t-shirt and super-shredded abs, trying to be a cheap knockoff of Corey.
Then I tried to sprinkle pixie dust on myself but I accidentally used Comet, so I had to go to the hospital to get my eyes flushed out. And OF COURSE the ER doctor was Dr. Ryan. Dr. Craig Ryan. Figures.
So here I sit, DIS-ers. Three days in, my stomach hurts from too many Reese's pieces, my tears have stained the pages of this Birnbaum guide, and I am wearing an LSU tshirt and I hate LSU. But that's okay, because I can barely see the shirt anyway because of this eyepatch.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I still love Reese's pieces. Oh, and come back, DIS. You're my only hope.
Your friend,
King Llama
Delicate