Note From Rhiannon

Hiyo and Greetings!

I've been on pause for almost six years. What can I say? The stupid bitch that shares my stories with you has gotten over her shit, listened to me, stopped eating bonbons and doing car pools, and has joined the rest of society (yeah, that's not true).

Thank you ever so much for reading this episodic breakdown of my dismal, strange, and fantabulously-shitastic life that only gets worse due to my poor decision-making and abysmal coping skills. I hope my weird and fucked up voyages continue to entertain and amuse you. There's a good chance it only goes downhill from here (if you've read my previous diaries, you should know this by now). But at least you'll be safe and sound as you view my complete fuckery and missteps from afar and can avoid repeating them.

We'll take the adventures together, marching side-by-fucking-side through...

Damn it, I have no idea.

Look, here's the deal. Don't hope that at some point this series becomes advanced literature that requires college-level classes (if that's your thing, you should fuck-off now because it's a lie, and I'm not worth the cost of admission). I'm the ghetto Dollar General store character in the bargain bin because the child-breeder that created me loves to shop and read books from there (she swears you can find top-notch material at the joint). She would say that, though. The author I talk to on the daily isn't exactly Einstein (she makes homemade dog food for fuck's sake) and is happy with a boring, mundane, and completely uneventful life.

She's a weird shit that does weird shit things, okay?

Here's a paid announcement because a couple of her spawn are heading to college (and I know they will take speech to get their degree, unlike their mother, because they never shut the fuck up) to become educated and fine upstanding citizens you will want to socialize and engage with because that's the thing these days. 

"Thank you for reading this, and have a nice fucking day!"

 

Rhiannon Murphy