Heard you bastards in America got a new "Star Trek" film or whatever. Not that I care. Expecting me to give a shit? I got Wikipedia, I got Fruity Loops, I got wine so cheap you'd have to have that knife that can slice pennies in half in order to buy it, I don't need nothing you shitheads are offering.
I am an artiste. Suck it.
I'm gonna write a rock-opera about Walt Whitman. I'll show you America.
God, I'm drunk.

The attempts on my life by the Foreign Affairs Office grow increasingly predictable. Just yesterday, my assigned official offered me a cup of a soup, and then stabbed me repeatedly in the neck.
As anyone who's ever even glimpsed a pamphlet concerning the races knows, the musculature of a Han Chinese is simply too weak around the wrists to cause any real damage to one of Nordic descent. We had quite a laugh about it afterward, and I joked that if they didn't get any new additions to their library soon, at least they would bore me to death!
Well, I laughed.

Received care package from Flevins, Fay, and Ffuhrmeister. Package contained:

one (1) half-deck of playing cards, Jokers removed and replaced with Green and Red Mana from a Magic: The
Gathering booster pack
two (2) labels peeled from bottles of Boone's Farm, the writing of which inexplicably seems to be Dutch
one (1) "crazy" straw, heavily patched together with scotch tape.
S
pent several hours attempting to unravel mystery of why my friends would send me such a random assortment of tchotskies when I clearly requested fresh Moleskins and perhaps a concert recording of "Astral Weeks." Was convinced it was an elaborate rebus, until I fortuitously remembered that my friends are retarded.

Apparently drank lighter fluid. No longer know German.

Wrote original song about the under-appreciated comic genius of Paul Rudd. In German.

Read Rilke in the original German.

Decided to teach myself German.