A few weeks after the above-mentioned incident, the Calgary Herald called out the Apple board of directors as a group of communist sympathizers and he went back in search of some cheap electronics. Well, here's where the story gets a bit crazy. I realize that this is going to seem fantastical and unbelievable. I did not believe him myself and made him send me actual pictures of the object. I've spent the last few weeks in deep analysis. I've checked the facts. I've made phone calls, checked yearbooks and had handwriting analysis done. I'm baffled and awed by our good fortune, but it appears that my friend has found, buried at the bottom of a box full of signed copies of Going Rogue, the childhood diary of one Stephen J. Harper, the 22nd Prime Minister of Canada.
Like I said. You're doubting this. You're thinking there is no possible way that something like this could exist, let alone be found floating around in a Calgary Sally-Ann. But I assure you. This is real. And my friend and I are going to share this diary with you, one posting at a time.
Feb 9th, 1970
Today begins what is my (hopefully) short experimentation with writing in a diary. I can’t see how this can possibly help anything, but Edna insists that it will go a long way towards helping us in our sessions. I still cannot believe that I must see Edna once per week. I am spending far less time in the back of the library and I’ve stopped “loitering” on the side of the pitch during the girl’s soccer practice. I really do not see what remains that anybody has to complain about. Regardless, I will do everything that is asked of me in hopes of ending this charade. If that includes writing in a diary, then I will write in a diary.
The tedium and monotony of school is getting to be too much. Mrs. Sharples spent the majority of class today talking about the upcoming implementation of the metric system. We’re going to have to re-learn everything and it seems quite pointless. I’m quite happy weighing 120 pounds, not 54.4 kilograms. My walk to school is precisely ¾’s of 1 mile, not 1.2 km. I sincerely distrust anything created by the French. The other Neanderthals appear to be swallowing this tripe whole. Kenny Spencer even suggested that this was going to make math easier. Then he sneezed all over the front of his shirt so I think that the nefarious implications of his proclamation were lost in the laughter. I asked Father again if he could please register me for private school. The public education system leaves much to be desired.
Speaking of Father, I was dragged to the garage today after school. The car was in for servicing and I had to meet him so that he could drive me to my piano lesson. I started to question the mechanic on what he was doing to the car and he spoke to me at great length about brake pads. Apparently the secret to good brake pads is lots of asbestos. I’m not sure what asbestos is, but the mechanic assures me that it is necessary for good braking. I will have to do some further research and figure out if he has taken father for an unnecessary seventy-five cents. This “asbestos” sounds entirely made up. You cannot trust a man that makes a living wallowing in grease and oil.