For some reason my past self assumed that my future self would understand where my mind was going with all of these random ideas... but I don't. I have absolutely no idea.
You want an example?
Exhibit A: Page 3
-living life with bears
-leaking (yes, this is underlined in the journal)
-monopoly in real life...
Dafuq, Banana Journal?
But seriously... What? Clearly Gfish from the past thought that she could write something worth her while about leaking, veggies, and a sasquash farm. These aren't even the most ridiculous ideas in the Banana Journal. Some bullet points are just random tangents of thought that are completely irrelevant to the Banana Journal's purpose.
-what do you see?
-why is this paper so weird?
-y u no smell of bananas??
-everyone's been getting these weird seizures
This Banana Journal is doing more harm than good. Well, I don't really know what harm it's doing exactly... but it sure is making me doubt my current sanity. I mean I knew it was bad... but this is just getting weird.
So, to give past Gfish a bit more credit to her name... here is part I of the Sasquash Chronicles:
Once upon a time, there was a young, beautiful, dashing young lady named Gfish. She planned on becoming a famous writer one day, but the fates were against her. Although Gfish dreamed big, her reality was far from what she wished it would be. The poor, alluring star was sent away by her parents to work for her Uncle Grapesoda. Her parents were snow wolves, and they wanted to spend the summer penguin-hunting in Antarctica. Since Gfish was human, she wouldn't have been able to survive down there without some serious snow gear that the family simply could not afford.
Upset that Gfish could not spend her summer writing and playing board games, she spent the entire boat-ride to her Uncle Grapesoda's farm sulking. However, once Gfish got to her Uncle Grapesoda's farm, she made an incredible discovery. Uncle Grapesoda didn't farm vegetables or fruits or livestock... he farmed Sasquash!! Naturally, Gfish was instantly drawn in to this odd phenomenon. Her Uncle's Sasquash farm could provide her with so much material for her next writing project!
So Gfish began to document her time spent on the Sasquash farm. The following Chronicles are bits and pieces taken from this remarkable girl's journey of self discovery, adventure, and love.
Chronicle 1: Meeting the Sasquash
I saw my first Sasquash today. Uncle Grapesoda says his name is Herfunkle, but I think I'll call him Jewfro since it looks like he has a Jew fro and I can't identify him from the other Sasquash in any other way. They all look pretty similar. There are ten Sasquash in all, but I think one's pregnant. Her name is Urpopsequashe, although she honestly looks like a male Sasquash. Not sure how this whole Sasquash reproduction thing works.
Today I touched one of them. His name was Kookoofoacocoapaffs. Uncle Grapesoda has been explaining a lot more about how he farms Sasquash, and I think I get it now. What happens is he plants a macaroni necklace into a pile of bacon and then waters it with the hair of the Sasquash he wants to get pregnant. Two weeks later, BAM. Pregnant.
I've developed a very strong friendship with Kookoofoacocoapaffs. At first he was a bit hostile, but after I fertilized him with some Sasquash Humus Manure, he really seemed to take a liking to me. Now we do everything together, from holding Urpopsequashe's body hair back when she/he is experiencing morning sickness to finding more macaroni in the Field of Noodles and Rigatoni. I've really enjoyed his/her company, since it can get pretty lonely here on the farm. Uncle Grapesoda isn't really fun to hang with.
I think Uncle Grapesoda is hiding something. He refuses to tell me how he found his first Sasquash, since you need at least one to get another. Every time I ask, he just gets all secretive. Maybe it has something to do with that locked chest he always keeps by his bedside, with the key around his neck. I'll have to look into this further.
End of Chronicle 1
Please join me next time for Chronicle 2: Uncle Grapesoda's Secret