if dr. zhivago played the oboe

Dear Diary,


Today, I had an epiphany. Someday, in the not-so-distant future after I become great and evil, when my miserable peons displease me, I will reward them by locking them in arctic gymnasiums with nothing but a projector and the rags on their backs. There, warmed by only the frozen hope in their hearts, they will be forced to endure foreign remakes of Hoosiers. For paraplegics.


It'll be wonderful--like hell! But colder.
Oh Diary, I can't wait to grow up...