Dear Diary,
Dis is Rum Jhaat again. Me sarry fuh badda yuh, but me na gat no-bady fuh talk to. An’ imagine, dis a Labour Day an’ me wear wan me red shut! Laang ago dem use fuh BEG me fuh mek speech. And afta, dem use fuh gi’e abee Bush Rum an’ Bunjal Duck. Yes…me an’ Nagga Man and all dem bais. But dis year, me gat fuh knack daaroo all by me self.
(Excuse me, Dear Diary. Me had fuh tek wan drink.)
Me know yuh waan fuh know wha’ happen, right Dear Diary? Me guh tell yuh. Is all beca’se me t’ink me too smart. Me Daady always use fuh tell me, “All smart fly does end up in cow backside” but me na bin believe am. Now me in cow backside.
Me bin deh good, good in me KFC party when de Pee-an-See aks abee fuh jine up wid dem fuh t’row out de PPCEE. Me tell dem if abee do da, abee guh tu’n “dead meat”! But Trat Man seh if abee bring in Nagga Man, abee nah guh tu’n “dead meat”.
(Excuse me Dear Diary, me gat fuh tek wan nex’ drink.)
An’ yuh know wha’ me had fuh do fuh bring in Nagga Man, right Dear Diary? You rememba how me wet yuh up wid me eye-wata when me tell yuh? Me had fuh mek ‘e leadah…
Me mek am leadah and look wha’ happen – NONE abee na get invite fuh ta’k pan de stage. All two abee tu’n dead meat.
And yuh know de mos’ hu’tful part, Dear Diary?? Trat Man get invite fuh ta’k.
