Dear diary,
It has now been three days. Still no DIS. My palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, there's vomit on my sweater already, Mom's spagh-
Wait, sorry.
Anyway, still no DIS. I needed something....ANYTHING. So I decided to do my own rapid fire, but all I ended up doing was seeing how many Reese's Pieces I could shoot into my mouth at one time with a slingshot I made out of office supplies.
I decided I needed "news", but the only Disney news source I could find was a 1984 Birnbaum guide that was stowed away in my parents' basement. Did you guys know that a great time to check out Communicore East is mid-afternoon, to escape the heat and to veer away from the crowds as they make their way to World Showcase? You're welcome.
I tried to do a round table discussion all by myself, but when I started by trying to say "I'm just happy to be here" with a chuckle, the tears started falling....because I WASN'T HAPPY TO BE THERE, sitting at my dining room table in my LSU t-shirt and super-shredded abs, trying to be a cheap knockoff of Corey.
Then I tried to sprinkle pixie dust on myself but I accidentally used Comet, so I had to go to the hospital to get my eyes flushed out. And OF COURSE the ER doctor was Dr. Ryan. Dr. Craig Ryan. Figures.
So here I sit, DIS-ers. Three days in, my stomach hurts from too many Reese's pieces, my tears have stained the pages of this Birnbaum guide, and I am wearing an LSU tshirt and I hate LSU. But that's okay, because I can barely see the shirt anyway because of this eyepatch.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I still love Reese's pieces. Oh, and come back, DIS. You're my only hope.
Your friend,
King Llama
Delicate