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Friday, December 5, 2025
By the time you read this, I'll be hiding inside a closet much closer too you than you'd feel comfortable with. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I don't think I could restrain myself from laughing about what I saw last night. I know this might seem like an omitted chapter from Dante´s Divine Comedy to you, seeing as we made all those plans to trade all our remaining STDs even-steven, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — I think. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule. I want to tell you that I think you are my repressed feminine side, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are not even real, just a Sim character I created last week in The Sims 3, and I am on my own plane of psychological existence. You like to sabotage ice hockey matches by repeatedly throwing out extra pucks onto the rink, recording your own toilet visits and sharing it on file sharing networks as MP3's wrongfully named as famous songs, and igniting your own fart, and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things. How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date on Friday and then try to kill each other through strangulation (or with knives) just for fun. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I walk past the ape cages at the zoo. I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, or so we'll pretend. Take care of yourself and never forget to brush your teeth. Oh wait; you don't have any, you toothless old fuck.
~ Grand Admiral of Switzerland. |