If you are reading this, this diary by Kyle "Jago" Jago, it can mean only one thing: you have run out of Internet. You have literall traveled as far as you can. You've been by Homestar X number of times, you've done Something Awful, you might even remember suck.com. The point is, that's it. The information superhighway has winnowed down to a dirt road, and this road leads to a tin-roofed shack surrounded by Warp One bags and empty chili cans.
You stupid, fucking people.
As Jago's "friend" for X number of years, let me correct a basic premise: still waters do not run deep. They are exactly one inch deep. And if you've stumbled onto this site expecting to peer into the soul of a genius, you have failed, Titanic-style. This man is as easy to please as a plant: food, somewhere to lay roots, and maybe bees flitting about his sexual organs.
That's the mystery explained. By me. Your best friend in the world.
So, despair. Take your own life if you have to. Undoubtedly Jago will white-wash this entry, writing "my friend Diego's crazy", or "my friend Diego's drunk", but by then, you will be dead by your own hand. Floating face-down in your own bath tub, your soggy, necrotic remains will be the tombstone on a horrible, long-buried secret: we are all cheapened by knowing him.
But hey, not everything's bad. Hulk movie? That's gonna RAWK!!!
So, yeah. That's Diego. And, while he's had SOME beers, I don't think he's quite drunk yet. Oh, and he's adopted....