Josephine is growing. Sure, she’s pregnant and that’s expected—but my god. She’s one sugar cube away from a full-blown double chin.

That’s my sister I’m talking about in the first paragraph—the obese pregnant one. If she ever got a hold of this journal entry my lungs would surely collapse after being sat on, so let’s keep this one under wraps.

The truth is I’m a victim of sibling abuse. Just recently I received the most painful purple nurple of my life after engaging with that bloated rhino.

I’m innocent. I was inspired by how she sweats melted butter after NASA -like lift offs from the sitting position, and because it’s apparent that she defeated the Hulk and ate him. Impressive.

So I thought up a new sitcom and made her the star. I called it, Blimpy and the Butterball Baby. I mean, what a gift of imagination right? Oh no. She lunged at me like a tuskless walrus, grappling my nipple with the pinchiest sausage fingers, and twisted with the violent intent to rip flesh.

How ungrateful!

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My sister and I share a banter to this day that includes all of the names we called eachother growing up, especially at the dinner table when our parents couldn't see what we would silently mouth to one another. Really funny in how wretched some of the things we would say really are -- but it was just one big rolling joke to us and it was never hurtful, just alot of laughs. So I decided to share this side of our relationship here in hopes of eliciting some laughs. This is between my sister and I -- not aimed at anyone else.

updated Aug 1 '09 by Tad_Winslow