Dear Diary,
I haven’t figured out why I have not been contacted by President Bush. After all, I am very adept at finding weapons of mass destruction. Let me tell you how this happened.
Yesterday my dad brought home a big box in the back of his van. He opened it in the garage and took out a big yellow machine. After assembling it, he opened up two compartments. In one he poured a thick liquid; in the other, he poured a very smelly liquid. He then rolled this machine into the yard. It has four wheels on it. Then he put a key into it and turned it.
The monster let out a big roar and began to kick up dust. I ran in the house, up the stairs, and hid under the bed. I heard the monster circling the house again and again. Stopping occasionally and starting with a roar, over and over.
Afterwards my daddy came up and got me. When we went outside, it was just as I thought—total destruction. The high grass where I used to hide and stalk the bunny rabbits was gone. The thick bushes that grew between the two trees and covered me when I pooped were gone. The high weeds that shielded me from the dog behind the fence in the other yard, gone. All that was left was the house, the garage, the trees, and the flowerbeds.
I think he has that horrible machine hidden in the garage waiting to release it on the kingdoms of little dogs like me all over the world. Someone has to stop him or we will be subject to perfectly manicured lawns with nothing to tickle our privates when we pee.
Please, I beg of you, call George Bush or John McCain and tell them that the enemy is not in Iraq—it is hidden in my daddy’s garage and available from Home Depot.
Love,
Duke
