DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN PERCY JACKSON (IF I DID WOULD I REALLY BE POSTING ON THIS SITE?)

Dear Diary;

Nearly half way through my sentence and I feel like I have a century to go. How does old Thunder-pants expect me to survive another 30 years at this blasted camp with nothing stronger than a Diet Coke? The punishment definitely does not fit the crime. Especially now that everyone is claiming their kids, and actually looking for the little brats, add that to the fact that the "no child" ban has been lifted for the big three and let's face it good ole' dad is worse than He-Who-Speaks-In-Crappy-Haikus when it comes to fathering half-mortal brats! Although with Queen-Of The-Uptights for a wife I can certainly understand the need to break out of a monotonous relationship- but it doesn't mean you have to have a baby with all of them. If he had just stopped after having me we'd all be fine and dandy but no he just couldn't resist. And let's face it, monsters just don't regenerate as quickly as they used to and you've got a high half-blood population with a low mortality rate. Oh to be back in a world where half-bloods were eaten by the age of five, I suppose it's true what they say nothing lasts forever but annoying little heroes. Remind me to turn Peter Johnson into a grapevine tomorrow- oh wait, he's got that ridiculous Achilles curse if only he'd chose to become a god, then I could just kill him over and over. Oh well, maybe one of the little nuisances will get maimed or eaten tomorrow. Here's to hoping and wishful thinking.

Yours Forever (literally),

Dionysus