Dear Diary,

I finished another masterpiece today. It gets so tiresome! I wish I had writer's block. My agent called and said that two Austrian publishers are begging for more stories. Well, they will just have to wait. I have three dates with three beauties I met at my book signing last week. I can't have sex and write at the same time! It is so tiresome! I killed my mother and father today. They were so tiresome! I am working out with my new Bowflex equipment. I have put on thirty pounds of pure muscle. Even my private parts are bigger and more stellar than ever. I sometimes just gaze at myself in the mirror at my gorgeousness. I have been asked, again, to host the Oscars, but I keep telling them I can't be bothered. Someone will just want to make movies out of my work, and all that flutter with contracts and meetings with stars, and keep track of the box office records. It would be so tiresome! I have a slight chill and fever today. I am sure they are nothing. I wish I could be really sick so that I could have a moment to myself. Life is so very tiresome! (I do hope no one ever finds this diary. They would see what a really tiresome life I had to lead.)