Okay, this is a surprise

So they tell me that oompa loompas don't really exist.

I got to on the plane that was meant to be taking me to Africa and one of my people handed me a phone. "Hello. This is [unpronounceable African name]. I'm sorry but there aren't really any oompa loompas in Africa".
"What about Brazil?"
"No."
"Australia?"
"Sir, there isn't really any oompa loompas anywhere."
........
"But there must be! It said in this book I read..."
"Which section did you find the book?"
"Oh, it was just on the floor where I put all my other books that I intend to read sometime"
"I don't think the book is real, sir"
"How do you mean it isn't real!"
"It's fictional"
"You're fired."
"Sir, I don't work for you."
"Are you wearing clothes?"
"um. Yes"
"Then you work for me. You did anyway. I order you to get undressed"
"You're nuts, man"
"I do no not hear undressing!"

The phone cut out at this point. So I threw it at the nearest person.
I'm still pretty sure oompa loompas exist. They just won't tell me. I mean, I exist- and my existence is as improbable as oompa loompas. (Who knew people would buy clothes the cost a few dollars to make for thousands? The great mystery of fashion, hm?). Therefore if I exist so must oompa loompas.

The other "designers" must be paying the Africans off so they can get the designs I throw out my window again. I will find the oompa loompas!

They're onto me

I'm sorry, but I'm too paranoid to even write many notes anymore. Actually I'm not sorry. I don't even know you! I'm better than you, anyway. So whatever, hm?
You see, I am being followed all the time by agents of Other Fashion Houses. They're trying to get my designs. I don't know who I can trust. I can't even trust my Coke Butler anymore!
Imagine that, not having a Coke Butler. I can't even buy Coke anymore. I had to buy my own factory to manufacture my own. (The spies might smuggle drugs into a Coke factory somewhere in Spain or wherever they make Coke, and then get them into the crates of Coke addressed to me).
But then I realized yesterday that I can't trust the people who work in my Personal Coke factory. So I am going on a trip to Africa to look for oompa loompas. I read in a book called "Charlie and The Chocolate Factory" that they manned a factory owned by someone called Willy Wonka. I've never had this candy that Willy Wonka makes, does anyone know where I can buy it?


Anyway. I am going to get some oompa loompas and get them to man my personal Coke factory. Good idea, huh?
I can pay the oompa loompas in chocolate, or chocolate beans or whatever fatty food they want. McDonalds (vomit) even!


No. I really did just vomit. The reason there is so many eating disorders in the fashion industry is because of places like McDonalds. Model sees McDonalds sign, vomits. It's sad. I only need to be within 100 meters of a fast food place to vomit. I need to vomit again, because I mentioned McDonalds more.

That was better. Ugh. Now, what about Chanel, you say?
I wouldn't worry about the workers at Chanel stealing my designs. They love me. That's why nobody ever leaves Chanel. I've got Chanel's mother in my closet, and the two brothers who own Chanel in Switzerland. In Switzerland, where they can't harm Chanel. They think they chose to go there.

Ha.

Remote countries like Switzerland are the best thing ever, right?

Anyway, off to Africa to get some oompa loompas. I hope they're not fat.

(PS. In the picture I'm blessing the stylish. I'm like the Pope but more sexy, hmmm?)