I hate Billy

2002-03-15 - 6:07 p.m.

Diaryland, you're pissing me off.

Everyday I search for new people to read. I want to beef up the "favorite diaries" part of my profile thingy. Everyday I find a new handful of kids who make me want to cry, not the good kind of cry either, the no-faith-in-the-future-of-humanity kind of cry.

I'm cruising through profiles, looking for things in common with you, and there's your favorite bands and you list N*SYNC and Creed and Limp Triscuit and any of their less popular clones and you know I'm not going to read a word you have to say. Why? Because all you ever talk about is Billy. Billy kissed me. I love Billy, I hate Billy, I love Billy. Billy kissed Sally. Billy looked so hot in Mrs. Crabass' Global Studies class today.

N*SYNC is not real, Billy is gay and hasn't realized it yet, and Mrs. Crabass hates her livelihood because of you and your people.

Doesn't anyone wonder shit anymore? Where are the thinkers? Don't you have any opinions on anything other than Justin Timberlake's eyes? When you're asked about your favorite authors and you say "Anyone who writes for Seventeen Magazine," you need to want more from life. If that seems like too big of an endeavor, then at least muster up the curiosity to find out what the third rail tastes like and put me out of your uneventful misery.

If you're reading this, me, these words right here, and I'm not describing you in the least, please write me a note or something and let me know where your diary-type-thing is. I'm dying to read you.

And for fuck's sake, I don't mean you Billy.