This war is crazy. It’s hard for me to describe the mayhem around us. It’s just everywhere. Everyone is trying to become someone else and get paid for it. In this war everyone is begging to be shot, shot by the right person. They say that’s how you “make it.” The men with all the power are called producers. No one can see them until after they’ve been shot a bunch of times. It’s scary. I just got my head shot and I’m not dead yet. I’ve been shot three times this week and I’m not even trying. Each time I get shot the better everyone says I get. I just don’t understand.
We’ve been looking for two different groups of insurgents. They are called the Agents, and Managers, but they’re up in the hills somewhere. The only way to get there is to “follow Sunset west.” Whatever that means.
I’m so thin. We’ve only been eating a little. Most are just eating the raw foods they can find. It's all nuts and berries. Even the rice is considered bad here. There’s not bread for miles and miles.
The women here are different. They’re all so pretty. The more times we’ve been shot the prettier they get and the more they want to spend time with us. My uniform or, “costume” gets older, ripped, and warn but they like us more and more.
I just want to find this union everyone is talking about. Maybe that’s when we can find peace. Apparently it’s safer there and they have the medics we all so desperately require. I’m gonna find these agents and managers mom, and hopefully this union. Tom Cruise is in it. I know, crazy right?
I miss you.
I miss pizza.