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 peoples’ stupid questions all day.`` So was born the Wimpy Kid’s diary.