Dear Diary. Girlfriend's banned me from swearing. I don't know why. I only swear like, two or three hundred times per fucking day. It's not fucking fair. I hardly ever fucking swear, and when I do, it's probably for a good fucking reason like I've stubbed my fucking toe or dropped a casserole dish on my fucking foot or something.

But Girlfriend's made a fucking swear jar. She says that every time I swear, I have to put one euro into the jar (and five euros if I drop 'cunt').

And what happens to the money in the jar? She says we'll use it to go on a family fucking vacation. Yes, that's right: a family fucking vacation funded by my fucking swearing. She probably imagines we'll be going to fucking Disneyland: a fun-filled shit-visit to Mickey fucking Mouse courtesy of all my fucks, shits, and cunts. I'll take Mickey by the fucking hand, lean in, and whisper, "Do you know how we got here? It's because I couldn't stop saying fuck. I can't stop saying fuck, Mickey!" And the man inside the Mickey Mouse costume will try to pull his arm free but he won't be able to because I'll be gripping his hand so tight. "I can't stop fucking swearing, Mickey! You have to fucking help me, Mickey!" I'll tell him. And the reason I'll be gripping his hand so tight is because I'll have lost all my money to the swear jar and I'll be worried about how I'm going to pay for food and necessities. Then Goofy will come over and jump on me, as well as two burly security guards, and I'll be kicked out of fucking Disneyland.

Funnily enough, it's evening now and the jar is still empty, apart from a couple of scraps of paper with "DADDY OWES 1 EURO" written on them, when 5-year-old heard me say "Ship" twice and thought I'd said a bad word. So far, it's been easy. I haven't sworn once today. Well, okay, I've accidentally said 'fuck' and 'shit' a few times but no one's noticed apart from me, and I'm not going to report myself for swearing - I'm not putting any fucking money into that fucking swear jar.