Synopsis

I have an extremely difficult life; in fact any other person in my situation would immediately jump off the nearest cliff screaming, “AHHHHHHHHH!” All the way down. I however am a trooper, in fact I am more than that, I am a hero. Currently I work as an assistant principal (I have been strategically placed in an assistant’s role to aide a “sweet,” but “aging” principal) and as an assistant principal my role is to listen to all of the whining that takes place at my elementary school. Just to give you a little taste of what I go through on a daily basis I will proceed in the next two sentences to provide you with a graphic picture of my daily torture with a specific dialogue I had with a subordinate employee just the other day:

“Bryan my feet hurt from standing out in the cold for 15 minutes,” complained the forty-five year old duty named Stacy as she sported her funny looking, florescent green lifejacket.
“Stacy why don’t you come inside and take a nap while I take your place for a while,” I valiantly replied.
The end.

As you wipe the tears of sadness away from your eyes I will give you a moment of silence to pay your respects to my goodness. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------.

My extraordinarily difficult life also includes a nagging wife and five semi-intelligent children who unfortunately take after my wife. Tiffany, my wife, is a short, skinny, dirty-dishwater blonde who looks exactly like Tom Petty. To this day she is not aware of the large sum her former boss paid me in order to take her off of his hands by marrying her. Tiffany is a nice enough person with low intelligence; however she comes with a lot of baggage. Unfortunately her mother is clinically insane and spends her days chasing geese and goats around her two acre lot. Nevertheless, as I reflect upon the fact, I also have a clinically insane mother, but my superior will-power and intelligence make up for my poor matronly genes. My mother eats all of her food with a straw, laughs at her own jokes, and reads poorly written romance novels.

Some of you may be asking yourselves at this point how a normal person can survive living day to day in such circumstances. The simple answer is that I spend much of my time teasing my inferiors as you will see displayed in my subsequent journal entries. It must also be remembered that I am not a normal person; I am a hero.