To Greg Heffley, middle school is the dumbest idea ever invented. It's a place rigged with hundreds of social landmines, not the least of which are morons, wedgies, swirlies, bullies, lunchtime banishment to the cafeteria floor - and a festering piece of cheese with nuclear cooties. To survive the never-ending ordeal and attain the recognition and status he feels he so richly deserves, Greg devises an endless series of can't-miss schemes, all of which, of course, go awry. And he's getting it all down on paper, via a diary - it's NOT a diary, it's a journal! Greg insists, preferring the less-sissyfied designation - filled with his opinions, thoughts, tales of family trials and tribulations, and (would-be) schoolyard triumphs. One day when I'm famous, writes Greg, I'll have better things to do than answer people's stupid questions all day. So was born the Wimpy Kid's diary.
To Greg Heffley, middle school is the dumbest idea ever invented. It's a place rigged with hundreds of social landmines, not the least of which are morons, wedgies, swirlies, bullies, lunchtime banishment to the cafeteria floor - and a festering piece of cheese with nuclear cooties. To survive the never-ending ordeal and attain the recognition and status he feels he so richly deserves, Greg devises an endless series of can't-miss schemes, all of which, of course, go awry. And he's getting it all down on paper, via a diary - "it's NOT a diary, it's a journal!" Greg insists, preferring the less-sissyfied designation - filled with his opinions, thoughts, tales of family trials and tribulations, and (would-be) schoolyard triumphs. "One day when I'm famous," writes Greg, "I'll have better things to do than answer people's stupid questions all day." So was born the Wimpy Kid's diary.
The boys go into the oldest brothers room and find an adult magazine with a picture on the front of a near naked women on a motorcycle in a very suggestive posture.
