Fame. . . she is a bitch. Let me just tell you. All these fans and their comments. All the sudden, people want something from you. I think I know why Brad and Jen broke up now and why Michael Jackson went crazy. I keep asking myself, is it really worth it? Do I want to end up like Michael Jackson?
But then I think about Pizza Girl. How, the next time she delivers, she’ll maybe recognize me, you know, because of the fame and all. She’ll recognize me and then we’ll start talking and eventually fall in love. She’ll be like my muse and my secretary, and we’ll eat free pizza and live like famous artists or something. Probably have to move to a new apartment. Mine is too small. She’ll get into modeling and stuff and I’ll keep writing. Go to those parties where people take your picture all the time. Might have to hire some bodyguards (don’t want to end up like Whitney Houston in Bodyguard). I better do my push-ups and order some more pizza. I hope she's working tonight.
