Dear Nincompoop: The Journal Of Sherlock.

[bubiza]

ITS AMAZING!!!by the way I think I know you...

Really? *thinks*
Thanks, btw. :3

[wonderfullyphicotic]

Me: " write more please!"
Brother: " your obsessed with this."
Me:- slaps brother- " am not."
Brother:- glares at me and walks off-
Me:-turns into super fan with pitch fork-" write more!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

[Alnitak]

depends are you on moshi with the same username as this?if so I am sure In know you!

p.s:WRITE MORE!!! i'm only up t the fith page but imma keep reading!

[honeybug]

OMG YOU'RE FROM MOSHI! ~le glomps~ So am I lolz.

And yes, LLAMA, write more, we love you.

[LaughingBanana]

* Cricket*
*Gets pitchfork*
I don't think I even need to say it anymore.

[Fork]

Me: HOLY CRAP. wth CANDY?!
Marleigh: Shut up Sparki, I'm trying to read!
Me: -scoff- Nerd
Marleigh: How much sugar did you put into your milk?
Me: PFFT, a lot
Marleigh: -facepalm-
Me: -starts pouring more sugar in milk-
Marleigh: STOPPET.
Me: ;A; NO!
Marleigh: -facebrick-
Me: -starts eating plain sugar-
Marleigh: ... ;-;
Me: WRITE MOAR LLAMA!
Marleigh: STOP YELLING AT YOUR MONITER.
[url=http://www.chickensmoothie.com/pet/13290972.html]Marleigh[/url]

[G๏l๔єภєאє]

moar!!!!

Kallie: that's not proper spelling
Me: they don't care
Kallie: i do
Me: again, they don't care
Kallie: how much sugar
Me: well....
Kallie: *sighs* no point in going back now....
Me: *eats one sugar cue after another* ....the packs finished....
Kallie: too bad *walks away*

[LaughingBanana]

Alright, that's it. *Walks into everyone's fantasy and takes all the worlds sugar*
There o3o
Janus: for once, I'm glad we went with your plan... maybe we'll get peace and quiet-
Jaime: you know they're going to attack you for it...
Janus: PUT |IT BACK! PUT IT BACK!
Me: arggg * pushes everything into river*
I panicked o3o

[wonderfullyphicotic]

Me: -walks into your house holding pitch fork to head- " me need sugaaaaaaaaaar!"
Brother- -drags me away apoligizing.

[bubiza]

Dear Nincompoop,
OHMIGOSH OHMIGOSH OHMIGOSH.
You know I said something big was going to happen sometime? Well, it did.
THE QUEEN IS MISSING. AND QUEENS DON'T GO MISSING EVERY DAY.
Mr. Smith was completely unsympathetic, especially in History. He gave us this stupid worksheet (called Heir Hunters! Not amused, mate, not amused.)
"Now," he said. "You are going to get into pairs, and look in the history textbooks for information about a monarch of your choice. You shall then show this information to the class."
Wow. I cannot think of anything more fun.
Candy rushed over to me, but I made a dash for it and ended up with Sam. Ha. Candy just death-glared her, then went with Roxie. Angie and Diesel went together, surprise surprise.
Most people were doing the usual, either the regular queen or Victoria or some other fat bloke who ruled us ages ago. We, however, decided to do the epical Langdarma, the 42nd and last emperor of Tibet.
Who was ruler over 2000 years ago. And also ruled the kingdom of Ü. Don't ask where Ü is. Wikipedia wouldn't tell me.
Anyway, we presented our presentations to everybody. Angie and Diesel, being sheep (baa) did Elizabeth II, with pretty much the rest of the class. When we showed ours, and talked about Langdarma and Ü, everybody did not understand what we were going on about.
Nor did Mr. Smith.
"I thought I asked you to research a monarch, not a unicorn." he snapped. "You two have failed this assignment."
"But Langdarma's an actual monarch." I protested.
"You're offending my Tibetan heritage, Smithy." Sam said coolly. Everybody turned to her. Although she's not part Tibetan, she was just trying to use some epical plan to get out of trouble.
"You're not Tibetan." he said.
"I am." And with that, she said something in Tibetan. Which sounded rude. Probably because it was.
"How do I know you're not making it all up? That could just be some random words."
"Don't be racist, Smithy." Sam sighed.
"You shall call me Sir, not this Smithy name."
"I'm calling you Smithy. So you better like it."
She got into trouble. Quite bad trouble. Now she's got to fix the school's boiler, since they can't be bothered to hire in a plumber or a electrician or a boiler... dude.
THAT'S SLAVERY. CHILD SLAVERY.
Still, at least we got the roof fixed today. Dumbledore was surprised that we did it so quickly, so let us go. I went to meet her parents, still extremely nervous.
Well, guess what? She lives in a normal house. Well, not normal, since it's more of a mansion.
IT HAS FIVE FLOORS, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
Her parents were in, and I saw them briefly. Her Mother is a biochemist and her father a nuclear physicist. Wow. Wooooooooooow.
That's why she's loaded. But they could afford a private jet, rather than having to sneak into lorries.

After making some sort of awkward chit-chat with Sam's parents, we went out to the park. Surprisingly, Dylan was there.
"Stop staring. My mum told me to go take Amber out to get fresh air. So here I am." he snapped.
"Hello to you too." I replied.
"Ooh! Who's this?" Sam asked, swinging upside-down from the swings.
"Dylan, Sam. Sam, Dylan." I muttered.
"Hello, Dylan!" Sam called.
"Um, hi... person..." he muttered, slightly taken aback.
"So... What do you think happened to the queen?" I asked.
"She died. Only joking!" Sam said, falling off and landing on her head awkwardly.
"Ouch." I muttered.
"Um... Is she OK?" he muttered.
"Course I am! Once, in Bermuda, when I was six, I was swimming in the ocean when this shark came up to me and bit my tail. I kicked it in the mouth and dug my claws into its eyes, which made it let go. I swam off, but the scent of its blood sent a load of other sharks after me, so I pepper-sprayed them all. And this other time, in Cambodia, I was in the jungle, and..." she rabbited on for a bit, standing on her head.
"That's... nice." Dylan said, stepping back, then turned to me. "Is she always like that?"
"Yep." Then suddenly, I had this amazing idea.
"Us three could solve this entire mystery! You see, Dylan has the brains, and Sam has the entire action stuff, and I have all the contracts, so..."
"Wow! I love mysteries! Did I ever tell you about the time when I got kidnapped in Russia when I was ten? I..." Sam cried.
"Maybe later." If I'd let her speak, we'd be probably dead before she'd gotten half way.
"So, I have to work and get on with this Sam?" Dylan gulped.
"Work with, yes. But you don't have to talk to her." See? I always know the right thing to say. So he grumbled something about how he would, since he had nothing better to do, and that's what we're doing tomorrow.
I'm going to sign off now, Nincompoop, and think about this entire plan.
From,
Sherlock.