Note #1: Warning, this is Steve Kragthorpe's actual diary. We can't control the fact that he has a sailor's mouth and is misogynistic towards women. We can only love him for it.
Note #2: Previous, even less polished editions of The Kragthorpe Diaries can be found here (I), here (II), over here (III), and even right here (IV). Oh yeah, here (V) too.
Dear Diary:
The last few weeks have been very tough on me. My appetite has been waning, my sleep habits are disrupted, and I have been spending a lot of time sitting by the lake on my property, simply pondering both my future and the meaning of life. My mood has been very self-reflective, and I don't always enjoy what I see.
Have I made all the correct choices? Have I done what's needed of me to reach heaven? Have I lived a good life? These are all questions running through my head at a mile a minute. At night, when I can't sleep, I read passages from my favorite authors: Emerson, Thoreau, Whitman. These great writers paint a picture of what I wish my life was, because at the end of the day, when I reflect on all things I have done, only one sentence runs through my mind:
The fucking Krag is here to stay. Oh, you thought I was serious? Suckas!
Oh, so some people want The Krag fired? Is that a fact? Well, The Krag don't back down from no bitchass fans If they knew anything about football or being a badass motherfucking pimp, they would be the head ball coach at Louisville right now. Instead, they're wearing a fucking paper bag around town. Let's see how much they like "Bag Krag" when its their girlfriend wearing the paper bag while Krag is hittin' it from behind. Up top!
Hell, I go to work every other day ready to get shit done, but these damn "players" keep fucking up The Krag's gameplan. I preach winning by any means necessary. If that means pulling a gun on the field, Last Boy Scout style, then that's what they got to do. When was the last time you saw an offense score on a defense that was packin' AKs? Yeah, didn't think so.
And I hope those West Virginia hillbillies do throw batteries at The Krag on Saturday. I can use those to help power the super-robot The Krag is building to top this year's recruiting class: Krag Thorpe Jr. Throwing touchdowns by day, splitting tail by night. He's like a fucking superhero.
Alright, so it's 11:30 and all this writing has made The Krag horny -- The Krag needs some ass. I've been banned from women's soccer and cheerleading practice. I don't want any dyke basketball players. So what is left? Krag knows...
If you need me, I will be standing in front of the women's freshmen dorm ass-naked in a Statue of David pose, letting the girls get a good look at Little Krag. And guess what ladies? He's not that little.
Krag out.