June 12
Another day spent toiling away in the goddamn mineshaft.  God, I hate this life. Soot in your beard, coal in your lungs, hacking nonstop .  And all for a handful of pretty rocks. Every day I wake up and think, alright, Grump, today’s the day you’re going to kill yourself.  But for some reason, I don’t. Tireless spirit, I suppose.

June 13
Punched Dopey in face. Must stop this disgusting materialism.

June 14
Another day of miserable work in the mines—and of course, Idiots One-Through-Six would not STOP singing that stupid song of theirs, which gets in my head and replays over and over and over until I just can’t take it anymore. The more they sing it the more tempting it is to take up my pickaxe and “accidentally” drive it through one of their musical craniums.

So you can imagine how downtrodden and dirty and exhausted I was by the time we reached home. Looking forward to nothing but a hot shower and a nice, long rest, you can imagine how infuriated I was when we opened the door and discovered: some bitch asleep on our beds! She had actually dragged them all together—never mind the thought I put into redecorating—to form one huge bed. How rude can you get?! I mean, okay, seeking refuge with your consenting, agreeable hosts, I can understand . But to actually break into someone’s home, then move the furniture to suit your preference? That’s larceny, and in my book it earns you a date with a firing squad. But of course, to idiots one-through-six, it didn’t matter. I knew the game was up when Doc goes, “why, hello, sweetheart!” Sweetheart? I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again; just because some broad has huge tits and blue eyes doesn’t make her trustworthy.
She’s good with locks, though, I’ll give her that.

June 15th.
Her name is Blanch, if you can believe it, which is exactly what I did when informed by Doc that she will be staying with us for “as long as she needs to”.  As long as she needs to? She’s just as worthless as Aunt Ethel!  In fact, why don’t we board Aunt Ethel instead? She’d be a helluva lot more agreeable to have around. A least she wouldn’t float around so goddamn merrily. There’s something creepy about people who are happy all the time, nonstop, 24-7.

June 16th
I recognized this bitch right from the start. Huge, vulnerable doe eyes, slender white limbs, skin smooth  without a single zit—she’s a princess, alright, and every one of them is worthless. Their only goal in life is to wait for some looker to happen along, get hitched, and pop out as many babies as possible. If Blanch spent as much time reading as she does staring dreamily out the window—OUR window—she might be able to make something of herself…but then again, probably not, seeing as she’s got the brains of an acorn. All of them do. What can you expect after God-knows-how-many  generations of cousins marrying cousins? And another thing; she’ s a pampered brat. If something isn’t perfectly clean, she won’t shut up until it is. Making us wash our hands before dinner? OUR hands? As if WE were the guests? Actually giving us orders in our very own home?
It’s nights like these I think starving in the wilderness would actually be an improvement.

June 16th—later
And another thing about princesses: animals follow them and never stop following. Bird shit on the floors, deer shit on the front steps, strands of fur all over the rugs. The first thing I hear every morning when it’s pitch black out is the high-pitched scream of those birds, which then proceed to twitter until around 6 a.m., when it’s time to get up.  

Oh, she cleans, I’ll give her that. Actually, it’s probably the one thing she’s good for. But she cleans messes that wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for her being here. It’s like hiring a plumber who continually destroys the pipes! The more she cleans, the more animals come, and so the more she cleans. And to be quite honest, those animals are retarded. One of those deer actually put in the reds with the whites! All my shirts are pink now! –Just another special service provided by Blanch and her Animal Friends.

June 17th
Her voice is such a ridiculous falsetto it’s almost laughable. No wonder the majority of her friends are animals—they’re the only things that can hear something so high-pitched! It’s even worse when she giggles. She’s like a dolphin wearing too much hairspray.
Meanwhile, she continues to sleep on our beds. We, however, have to fight over who gets to sleep with the single throw pillow she left us. Get a job, butterscotch!

June 18th
Don’t open the door for anyone, we said. Don’t talk to strangers, we said. But Blanch, displaying the mental facilities of a banana, decided that some strangers—particularity the old, disfigured, beggarly sort—were okay to talk to.
Judging  by the apple that lay on the floor next to her with a single bite taken out of it, Blanch was eating when she offed her.  We got there just in time to see the old bitch running for it, but in the end we chased her up a mountain and she fell off.

So Blanch is dead.. Strange that someone would actually go out of her way to kill her...she didn’t seem like the type of girl to have a price on her head.
Unless the hag actually was a beggar, got fed up with Blanch, and decided to off her then and there. Life is full of mystery.

June 19th
We built a glass coffin for Blanch. And by we, I mean me, because the others were all too busy crying to be able to function.  A tricky bit of work but I think it turned out okay, really nice, with a glass cover and a precious stone inlay.
Even in death she has me working.

June 20th
We’re sitting around Blanch’s corpse, trying to decide what to do next, when we heard the sounds of hoof beats. Apparently our patch of mountain, which we had chosen specifically because of its remoteness, has become a tourist attraction. Why not open a Bed and Breakfast while we’re at it?

Anyway, this guy comes into view, and you can tell automatically he’s a Prince, due to the vague expression in his periwinkle eyes, plus the sheen of his leggings. So he strides right up to the tomb and leans right down and kisses her. Excuse me? Who kisses a corpse? Disgusting!

But it turned out okay, because Blanch woke right up. Long story short: he sweeps her off her feet, puts her on the horse (tricky), and they ride off into the horizon. Warm fuzzies all around.

Typical princess.  She knows nothing of this man. He could be carrying her off to the gates of Hell, but so long as he has a perfectly white smile she doesn’t give a shit! Well, I hope she’s happy, wherever he’s taking her—to lock her in a tower, throw her off a cliff, or have her pump out beautiful children. For us I guess it’s back to the mines.

June 21st
Doc is opening a bed and breakfast. He says having Blanch made him realize how nice it was to have guests. I’m leaving.

June 22cd
You know, all of this has made me realize two things. First, I hate people. And secondly, mining is not my passion. So I’m off to pursue my new career as a coffin-maker. If that fails, I’m off to be a mortician—something better to suit my nature. Hopefully, this way I’ll never run into any goddamn princesses ever again.