A Fashionably Dead Diary by Robyn Peterman

Getting blackmailed sucks. Getting blackmailed by Satan into ghost writing his autobiography/romance really sucks—hard.

But I’m not a weenie or a welsher. I’m a semi-materialistic, Prada lovin’ Vampyre-Demon with a bad attitude and a serious lack of cheating skills. If I were a good cheater, I wouldn’t be in this heinous position. I lost and now I have to pay. However, the price might deplete the wavering amount of sanity I have left…
So I’m turning to you, Dear Diary, to pour out my inappropriate feelings and murderous inclinations toward a family member who shall remain nameless. Who in the Hell am I kidding? I’m gonna name that butthole over and over on these secret pages. It’s Satan or Lucifer or the Lord of Darkness or the Dark Angel—or, as I like to call him, Uncle F%#ker.
That’s why I have chosen you, Dear Diary. You don’t have a mouth as far as I know and if you do, I’ll remove it—violently. Please keep that in mind as I tell you all my secrets. I’ve dealt with talking books and walls and they’re a real pain in the ass. So if you turn out to be one of those, we’ll have a problem.

Sit back. Relax and get ready for a Hellish ride.
xoxo Astrid