OKSTOBER 4. Well here it is Tuesday agin and not a farthink from that blustery moocher Wimpy. Why nobody has exskorted him to Davy Jones’ Locker is unfathomable. Uk uk uk! Gets it? Unfathomable! Because, you knows, the sea! You measures it in fathoms! I’m glad I’m writink dis down.
OKSTOBER 9. Had it out with Pappy after I catched him clotting Ham Gravy in the side of the cup with a rye bottle. I finally makes the deskision to bring up the think about Alice the Goon, and he says he’ll cuts it out “as soons as you dropsk dat plank you’re sleepink wit.” I tells him I ain’ts been sleepink with no plank sinsk I was a teenager, and he says dat he minsk Olive Oyl. I tells him that my intinkshusn wit Olive are enterseley honkerable, and he just makes dis screwy vinegar face and axes me how Swee’Pea is doing. I forgets what happinks after dat because he hads anudder rye bottle it turnsk out.
OKSTOBER 14. I’m no analysikal philoskofer, but sometimes dat Jacques Derrida climbs right ups me bilge pump. Ruth Barcan Marcus goes too far in her constink detraction of him as an inkelkshable fraud, but his deliberick obscurantantism does no servicks to his ambishkus phenomenologies.
OKSTOBER 23. Some fat man and a pansy was sniffink around Sweethaven lookink for a black bird. I tole him there was no suchk bird anywhere arounds but he insisked and spent about nine watches locked up in conferinsk with Bluto. Meanwhiles da little pansy kepsk making google eyes at me. I tole him I was flackered but not really inkerested. The tub of gutsk axed me if I had seen his rara Avis and I said the only way on or off of Sweethaven was by sea. He gives me a queer look and then says I am wild and unpredickable. I should have tossed him in the harbor but he probably would have floated away and then four monks from now I’d end up havink an adventure on him. Sometimes I really hates this town.