Greg

I don't even know where to begin with the madness that occurred last night. Greg came in with his friend, Marc, and Greg was all dressed up wearing this crazy tux. I asked them where they'd been, and they said they were back from the Starbucks and that Greg had met Marc at the Starbucks after attending a funeral. Seems that chiflado Bob got himself killed with a little S&M accident. So naturally, those locos go off to Greg's bedroom and break out the equipment -- like I want to hear all that! Shit, man. They're still going at it. What'd they do, each take a Viagra and a line of coke? Only way I can figure out that level of stamina and energy.

Oh, and Greg tells us that Bob's funeral was all weird and shit. He had his body skeletonized in a beetle box and a boa thrown around his shoulders and an open casket with all that shit. Freaked everyone out. Except Greg, who thought it was hillarious. Sick bitch.

Speaking of sick, I'm getting the fuck out of here, man. I can't concentrate or read with all that racket. Fucking's one thing, but when I hear the crack of a whip, I got to go.