So, I’ve been informed that yesterday’s incident with the Bitter Cocoa Biscuits didn’t happen quite the way I remembered it. You see, right before I was going to try the cocoa cookies, I sampled a Psychedelic Sours Fruit-Flavored Jawbreaker. The package for this racquetball-sized confection carries a warning about the potential negative effects of prolonged licking, but I’m not good at respecting warning labels.
69,105 licks later, I thought I went into the kitchen to try some Bitter Cocoa Biscuits. What really happened, or so I’m told, is that I walked right past the table, went outside, climbed onto the roof, stripped off all of my clothes, and declared myself to be Queen of the May.
It took quite some time for anyone to come to my aid, since I’m also told this isn’t an entirely uncommon occurrence and most people just ignore me until I tire myself out and fall asleep up there. But eventually, I was coaxed down with promises of chocolate-dipped chiccarones and possibly an entire meal made of nothing but gummy candy.
After several hours of fitful sleep, and apparently a dream about angry cocoa cookies, I was back to being my normal self. And thanks to modern technology, I can put this whole story right here in my personal diary that no one else can see. Because I’d be mortified if the whole world somehow found out about this.