Dear diary, I opened my eyes to a dark, windy day. A perfect day for us devils, I thought, as I clapped my hands gleefully n stomped out of my bed. Performed my daily ablution of dustin' myself thoroughly wid ash. It took me the better part of an hour, n I did it with great fervour. Why is it, my dear diary, tht though I do it twice a day widout fail I dont get any fairer?? Hurried to the office n smiled at the pretty receptionist, who glared in return. I mean, its not my fault tht I've got stubby legs n funny horns, aint it? Anyways, my momma says I'm the most handsome devil ever born, and let anyone who thinks otherwise rot in fungus!
The boss was positively fuming today, mebbe he's got somethn on his mind, the poor feller.... Heard from the grapevine that he's got severe poop problems, so why doesnt he go to the witch doctor and do somethn abt it, for chrissakes? Hell smells bad enough, and now he's just adding to it. Aargghh, hell is teeming with hundreds of new souls everyday, and these guys don't even give me a raise for all the extra torture that I've had to do; cmon, how much more can a devil take?
PS: Guys, I've run out of ideas for this piece. In case any one has any idea as to how to continue this, please let me know. I shall be more than happy to write their name in this space. I look forward to giving this baby a happy ending, folks. Please help. :-(
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