Sign My Guestbook! Sometimes I like to imagine that there is a Mister-Burns-style trapdoor in my brain, and I can just open it and send the stupid ideas plummeting, down to my stomach, to be dissolved by gastric juices. She has some kind of power over me sometimes. I had however, JUST started this diary, so despite my better judgement, I obeyed the nagging feeling that pressed me to come on-line and check d-land. I curiously wondered if this person had a diary because they had actually complimented me..... and it sounded like a guy, guys usually are scared of me, or find me apalling. And even my sweet strawberry started to pulsate.