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Sunday, June 16/97, Antigonish – I was told “this will be the most laid back job you ever had” and those words have been true to date. Working the Cotton Candy trailer I spend the days steaming Value Priced wieners that are repackaged at night for future use, heat recycled hot dog buns, serve cold nachos, butter moldy popcorn and concoct pure speed-cotton candy. The crap is nothing but sugar, dye, sugar and hot air that sends the easiest going kid on the block to adrenaline Heaven. Ratio is 10 pounds of sugar per tablespoon of dye – that’s right my friend nothing but sugar. I never took a nibble yet as I have witnessed the devastating effects it has on the skin. For listening pleasure a tape deck spins “The Greatest Hits of Carnival Music and Pipe Organs” incessantly. I am told “the kids love it” but it is enough to drive a monkey to eat the balls off his twin brother.

Tuesday, June 18/97, Inverness – Received a warning from a local not to walk alone at night as legions of youth have a fixation for beating strangers – a warm welcome to a cold town. With temperatures akin to mountains of Bogota I had to ask an old lady to steal the long underwear from her mute husband as the only two stores in town were depleted of stock. In return I slay the oily rodents living beneath her house feeding on the farm’s chickens. No problem I thought, I am freezing and need the damn undies in order to keep my body temperature above zero. I never took up the hunt before – maybe killing a creature will straighten me out. I managed to take out two of the bastards with a double ended ax but at least four more exist. The mangy beasts were the size of raccoons with dank, musty hair, leathery tails reaching twenty inches long and huge front fangs worn to a razors edge from chewing on bone. One of the bastards smiled with idiot glee before I sliced him into two pieces with a putrid stench filling my lungs. Tea and cookies were enjoyed after the bloodshed in the comfort of heat.

Wednesday, June 19/97, Inverness – The number of inbreds existing in Inverness is shocking. I thought Yogi Berry in Antigonish was strange with the heart of a twenty -three year-old baboon in his body. The loony bastard had to hold his lips open in order to direct his shaky hand towards his mouth when drinking. His pick up line, “Hey you, come here, I am a baboon, hear me howl!” Most kept walking. The inbreds are locally fabricated at The Chromosome Damage Dungeon and are free to wander the street’s once full grown. The perfect tourist attraction. What sweet elderly couple dressed in obscene pastels wouldn’t dig the sight of a half-bred low brow trudging through Forest St. with a diaper stained ass, sweat on his furrowed brow, thick red sideburns clinging to a porcelain skinned face tinted with aviator glasses thicker than a German accent and a larger than normal bulge emanating from his crotch.

Friday, June 20/97, Mabou – Met a fair freckled face boy, a local, hooked on pills. Aged ten and addicted to hyperactive downers. Says he is trying to cut down on the powder but the slow heavy drag of pleasurable pills is hard to shake. The crazed bastard missed a shot and went crazy. Knocked some geek’s tooth out creating a fair amount of blood. The goddamned blood only seemed to set fire to the bastards’ ass, at the sight of red he went after two others with the ferocity of a crocodile without food for two weeks. Took seven to haul him off and shove an emergency pill up his rectum as his mouth viciously snapped the air. When the downer hit him his pupils dilated and his whole person melted in ecstasy.

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