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My journal is sort of like my best friend and confidant. I can say anything to my journal and I know it will offer me only the best advice, which is always to just keep a clap on your trap and listen to what Daring has to say. Ha! You would think that a hero like me always concerns himself with being a hero, but I'm a man just like you only much better and I have to do all of the things you do in your daily life. Only I do them much better, of course. For the first time in ever I am allowing you, the devoted reader, to get a sneak peek at what it's like to be Daring Armstrong.
The Cafeteria Stocks Nothing But Foreign Crap May 22nd, 2003

I think the last time I had a cheeseburger was when I went to the Hard Rock Cafe in Los Angeles with Sharon Stone, and that was almost four years ago. She didn't put out but the cheeseburger was pretty darn good. You want to know why I have to deal with the sudden drought of American food? Of course you do, and I'll tell you why. The stupid jerks who run the cafeteria here at Timelab stock nothing but foreign crap that only a moose or some Chinese fish or something would eat. Yesterday they had snow peas and egg noodles with soy sauce. None of that garbage gets put in my mouth so I ate yet another Powerbar from my hidden stash in my quarters. Those things are damn expensive and you know what I bought the meal card, I should have at least some say in what they put on the menu. Whether I eat their ching-chong-chineycrap or not I am shelling out my hard earned dollars to keep their kitchen operating.

It's a damn travesty - pardon my Freedom - that a hero like me should have to eat filthy foreign food. They probably don't even wash their potatoes. Heck, I don't think they even serve potatoes any more unless they're in some sort of curry pastry straight from the menu of a Mayan warlord. I saw Laura in there last week and I was going to sit with her and get my swerve on and maybe take her back to my room and show her the time of her life, you know, but then I see she's eating some sort of hair sandwich. I said "what the heck is that crud?!" and she says it's "bean sprouts". I don't know what a bean sprout is but it looked to me like they found the hairiest bean ever built and shaved it onto her sandwich with some "chipotle mayo" and "fresh herb butter". I felt like I was going to gag and started to get dizzy just thinking about it and excused myself in a big hurry straight for the vending machine. They were all out of Rolos so I got a Snickers and then ate some uncooked Mac and Cheese I had left over from my birthday.

All I can say is I guess if this is how America treats her heroes I'd be afraid to be one of her enemies. Those Cuban Commie POWs are probably eating fried dirt and washing it down with a cool glass of drained motor oil.

Listening To: Six Pence None the Richer - Kiss Me
Mood: Mad.

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