My fuckin' shrink says it would be good for me to write stuff down. So, that's why I'm scribblin'. Now, the fact that I have a shrink in the first place is another story altogether! It's all because of my partner, Sam. That fuck. No, he's cool. He's just a little...you know...a fuck. Anyways, he said I should "talk to an analyst to control my super-temper, just like on the Sopranos." The Sopranos, the Sopranos! I'm sick to death of the fuckin' Sopranos! The killing stuff is alright, but all the shit about hitmen tryin' to find out mentally why they're killin'? I hate it. It's too mental, y'know? Like "Bob Newhart", that fuckin' show. When I'm fuckin' some dude up, y'know what I'm thinkin' about? Fuckin' him up! And a thousand other punks just like him! Anyways, Sam says it's a cool thing to do so I'm givin' it the ol' middle school try. Well, time to go, diary! I've got somebody I have to shoot! Later.