Okay, because I love Sue so much, and particularly her diary entries on the show, I thought I'd give this a try. If you like this, or don't, let me know; the response/reviews I get will depend if I continue. Assuming you watch the show, I'll also go ahead and assume you won't get offended by anything "Sue" writes in these diary entries. She's just like that. ;)

Dear Diary,

On a big bird in the sky, on my way to gorgeous, sunny Boca Raton, where I will hide away in my rented beachfront bungalow and hatch my plan to conquer Will Schuester and his gang of pubescent freaks.

Diary, can you believe what that curly-haired menace had the nerve to do today? Because of him, I have been exiled from the steel trap known as William McKinley High School. That heathen insulted my intelligence, accused me of the worst of crimes– cheating. So what if I happened to get Glee Club's set list from Brittany. It's not my fault she was raised by white trash and turned out to be so gullible. The world would be a better place if there were a few more morons like her I could get my manicured, powerful hands on.

And I copied that list on my sturdy Cheerio's letterhead (paid for by boosters– old, misshapen, second-rate cheerleaders who struggle to remember the best days of their now-pathetic lives, spent with the slobbery, infant cretins they've chosen to produce with their fat, malfunctioning husbands ) so I could keep it in my personal files– called "Sue Sylvester- Proof of a Supreme Being." It's a black hole, full of other people's glorious misfortunes, and Will Schuester is taking up a lot of real estate lately, that mouth breather. I like to look at it and realize what a vital part of society I am, Diary. After all, I wouldn't possess this nearly unattainable level of success if there were no duds to compare to.

I have no idea how Sugar Mama, the director of the convicts, with that giant unnaturally-blonde weave of hers weighing her down, or Scarlet Fever, the deaf invalid from the so-called 'rival' school, could've stolen away into my laser-beam protected office and stolen the set list. I have no idea, Diary!

Know why I'm laughing, though, Diary? Two reasons. Although those foul-mouthed teenagers may have been able to temporarily save their dejected, rightfully-unappreciated club by appearing unrehearsed and 'full of character' at Sectionals, their marginal success against two grossly inferior opponents (get this, Diary– the future's best 'black hottie' criminals and a bunch of deaf kids) will only make sabotaging them in the future that much more riveting. I will be a legend. And the Cheerios will once again reign the school, receiving full funding and restoring our European dry cleaning allowance.

Why is Figgins so upset at my insistence of Glee's downfall? It's clear that the club is a festering sore in McKinley's side, led by the world's most ignorant director with a man-perm: Will Schuester.

The other reason why I'm so smug? Figgins can expect a hefty lawsuit against him. That's what I love about this country– though I was born in the Panama Canal zone and am not a natural citizen, I have managed to take advantage of all the good ole' U-S of A has to offer: strip malls, grass-seed smoothies, curbside recycling, and lawsuits.

I plan to strip this school of the millions of dollars I am justly owed. I'll pry it from the administration's cold, dead, fingers if I have to– a little adversity has never deterred me. And after I'm finished shopping for luxury tracksuits and have returned from my trip to Mexico after adopting one lucky, lucky Mexican adolescent who can tend to my gardens and bleach my bathrooms, who I will help hone the maintenance/cleaning abilities of his bleak, desolate, Comet-filled future, I will have thousands of promise-filled dollars, which will be used to destroy the closet homosexual known as Will Schuester.

You're thinking I'm being too hard on Schuester, aren't you Diary? You are mistaken. Will Schuester deserves his downfall, and so what if I have to take down 10-20 acne-faced adolescents with him? It's not as if their feelings matter in this cold, hard world. No, Schuester's deliberate, obvious plan to destroy both the Cheerios and the goddess of the McKinley institution– myself– should be enough to convict him. Now, his catastrophe-of-a-life includes my favorite word of all: adulterer.

That man-whore couldn't suck it up and stick with that bird-faced, soon-to-be ex-wife of his in their mundane, detestable life together, so he ran off with Ginger Bambi, the worst of all possible breeds. If anything, Diary, this just highlights why getting away from McKinley High will light the path to my world dominance. It was a school perfectly content with hiring a redhead, of all things, to supposedly talk sense into the most imbecilic generation yet to graze our planet. Then they hired a curly-haired, Spanish-speaking metrosexual to teach kids who will never succeed at anything about show tunes.

I am better than that, Diary. In fact, I am a supreme being. It's a lonely place to be.

Gotta go, Diary. About to land in the Sunshine State, where I will meet Neil, the male accomplice I met at Fitness World during my last trip. After a dinner of fresh scallops and lobster in a light butter sauce, which will improve my mental capacity for destructive postulations, I will return to my house by the sea, and by candlelight, make a sensible outline of my plans to deface those monsters.

Sue