Free Out of Whack by Jeff Strand

time. If God had meant me to exercise, He wouldn’t have made me so lazy. So I resolve to keep this journal of my life, and write in it every single day, even those days where all I did was watch TV and practice clipping my toenails so that they pop up into my mouth. This is really going to be fun!
     
    FEB. 3: Okay, I’ve fallen a bit behind. But from now on, Diary, I’m going to write every single day. Because when I look at these first thirty years of my life, I really wish I’d been writing things down. Maybe then I wouldn’t draw a complete blank for what happened between the ages of twenty-six and twenty-eight. And that four-year memory gap during my time in college still disturbs me, as does the stinging pain that rips through my brain when I try to recall my life before I turned sixteen. But that won’t be a problem anymore, right Diary? You’re going to be my best friend in the whole world.
     
    FEB. 24: Today was a bad day at the laboratory. I think I came very close to finding the cure for the common cold, but I forgot the notes in my pants pocket when I did the laundry. So I went to find the lab mouse I’d been studying, but it had been in my pants pocket, too. Oh well. Simmons tried to give me a wedgie, but I fooled him by not wearing anything under my lab coat.
     
    MAR. 11: Sorry I fell behind again. Work has been hectic, what with the lawsuits and all. The labels on the toxic waste containers clearly state “Do Not Get In Hair,” but a few members of the tour group didn’t pay attention. Lousy preschoolers. Anyway, their parents are suing us for ten million dollars a mutation, plus they want a written apology. And it has to be sincere or they’re just going to tear it up and make us write it over again.
     
    APR. 2: I’ve decided to take up photography. It pays very well. I’m currently making $500 a week for a picture I took of the governor and his mistress.
     
    APR. 28: Don’t look at me that way, Diary. I know I’ve been neglecting you, but I’m a busy man. I’ve got more important things to do than sit here and write in you all day. But I promise I’ll do better, okay? Still friends? Good.
     
    MAY 17: Guess what? No, guess again! I have a date tonight! Her name is Kimberly, and she’s even more beautiful than the mother on Leave it to Beaver! She has eyes of the deepest blue, hair black as the night, lips red as a delicious apple, teeth the color of a wonderfully tart lemon, and brownish gums. We met this afternoon when the guided tour was coming through the lab right after Higgins had shouted “Specimen fight!” Some fungi with explosive properties we’d been previously unaware of struck Kimberly’s boyfriend, and she immediately thanked me for sparing her one of those uncomfortable breaking-up talks. Though I’ll admit to not being very smooth with women, the first thing out of my mouth was “Holy shinola!” There was a deadly virus right on her shoulder! But, warning her to keep still, I reached over and flicked it off, saving her life and the lives of everyone present, except the guy the virus landed on. I had the presence of mind to take advantage of her gratitude by asking if I could borrow a few bucks for lunch, and she asked me if I wanted to go to the movies with her. We’re going to see the new film by my favorite director, Alan Smithee, though for some reason her suggestion was something called Lord of the Unzipped Flies.
     
    MAY 31: I forgot to write about it before, but my date was a complete failure. First of all, I got the idea right away that Kimberly was ashamed to be seen with me. I mean, we went to the most expensive place in town, The Devoured Cow, and before we even got our appetizers she was asking me to come back to her place! And the meal was awful. What kind of restaurant doesn’t serve Cheetos, for God’s sake? At one point Kimberly picked up a pickle and began to lick it very, very slowly, gradually working the entire thing into her mouth, moving