Walt Whitman

Dear diary, today was the first day of seventh grade, and all I could think about are boobs. Boobs, boobs, boobs, boobs. Big bouncy boobs. I want them in my mouth. I want them in my hands. I want them all over me. Today, I thought of boobs.

I think it's important to keep in mind that in his early works he had yet to find his literary voice. I mean, a boy his age, we can clearly see that he's struggling with new thoughts and feelings.

Absolutely. You know, I couldn't disagree more. I think, dare I say it, that this may be some of his bravest, most... illuminating work.

Listen to his words. Boobs, boobs, boobs. Big bouncy boobs. Listen to that alliteration.

And she's 13 years old, right?

Well I suppose it is interesting that This is the only time I'm aware of Walt Whitman including an illustration with his writings.

You know, I think it's interesting to point out that it seems that Mr. Whitman is exaggerating a little bit. I mean, these are full womanly boobs, whereas your average 13-year-old's breasts tend to resemble more of a bloated, fleshy candy corn.

Yeah, I would feel more comfortable if we could just move on to his later years. I mean, he gets really good at 17.

You know, I'd like to counter with something. Perhaps Janice Williamson was held back a couple years. Because, like I said, most 13-year-olds' breasts are nothing to write home about. But these... hachi-machi.

You know, I think I'm just gonna de-mic now.

I think I'm going to de-mic. Hachi-machi. The debate crackles.

If you look at the bottom of this page, you will see a discolored spot. That's because today I thought about boobs so much that I started rubbing this journal against my wiener until stuff came out all over the pages.

It tasted like salt. It tasted like salt. And this tastes like art.