Adam Ruins Everything
Jake and Amir
Lost Diaries of the Boxcar Children
November 8, 2006
"The Boxcar Children," a series of novels about four orphans that take refuge in an abandoned train in the woods, have been charming youngsters for years. But the books didn't tell the whole story. For that, we turn to the children's Lost Diaries.
(February 12th, 1941):
Sadly, the sun rose again today and I did not die in my sleep as I'd hoped. Instead, I woke up shivering in this God-forsaken meat locker of a boxcar, cupping my hands around my half-frozen ballsack for warmth. I know it's wrong, but the next time my sister Jessie and I are alone, I'm going to make sure I don't die a homeless virgin.
(August 9th, 1941):
Keeping your milk cool under a waterfall is not as easy as it sounds. Upon opening the bottle this morning, we found not milk, but curdled chunks of insect and bacteria-infested sludge. Henry, being his usual Nazi self, told me not to drink it, but I hadn't eaten for weeks. Since then I've been vomiting every few minutes, and it feels like my eyeballs are being scooped out of my head with a shoehorn. Is it getting dark early today?
(August 10th, 1941):
Yesterday, Violet died of dysentery. Henry sawed off her legs and arms, and he's roasting her thighs over a fire for dinner tonight. I plan to read a poem. On top of this, I have been carrying Henry's baby for six months. We mistakenly thought I wouldn't become pregnant if we did it in the caboose. We will probably drown the baby in the marsh, if I don't die in labor first.
(October 4th, 1941):
Oooohh a kitty!
We like you. Do you like us too?
Don't ask me again.