For the last 11 years, Manny from Diary of a Wimpy Kid has invaded my dreams. I see him every night in a reoccurring dream. In this dream, he holds up Greg and Rodrick’s dead bodies, who are now hung only by Manny’s discarded umbilical cord. Manny smiles at me, and he rubs his hands together. He then takes his oversized teeth and begins to chomp away at the bodies. He feasts on the carcasses as he looks me dead in the eyes. I try to do something, but I realize I’m strapped to a chair. I desperately try to wiggle my way out, but he suddenly screams with his brother’s flesh dripping out of his mouth: “WHERE YA GOIN, BUBBY?”, every time right before I wake up. I have this exact dream every night, and every day I wake up in a pool of my own urine. I mean this now more than ever: fuck manny. He won’t leave me alone, and I’m absolutely terrified of him. As I write this, I’m on my way to a therapist to help me keep my newly diagnosed PTSD under control. This psychopathic fucker has completely ruined my life. FUCK. MANNY.