I remember when...

Dear Diary:
I miss the good old days. Smoking pot, selling millions of albums, having hordes of underage girls throwing their panties at me. The only thing being thrown at me now are plus-sized granny panties and my estranged wife's prothetic fucking leg! There was a time I could spend five minutes writing a song while high out of my mind, and I'd be assured it was a hit. Good times... good bloody times. Christ... look at the time. I'd better get ready to sing "Hey Jude" for the 15 millionth time so I can cut a royalty check to the genderless child molestor that owns all the rights to my songs. Maybe if I offer him my 4 year old, I could kill two birds with one stone... "Charlie Chaplin had kids until he was 73, Paul!" You bitch, Heather. My kids should be changing my diapers! GOD DAMN IT, I WAS THE CUTE ONE!!!