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Thursday, November 6, 2025
Dear pointless entity,
By the time you read this, I'll be chasing your helpless grandma around with a huge fucking monster truck. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your feelings are inherently less valuable than mine. I know this might seem like a total violation of the laws of physics to you, seeing as we made all those plans to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom in Mordor, 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 going to get coal for Christmas this year, being as naughty as you are, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Democrat, and I am vastly less intelligent than that. You like navel lint collecting, dating circus midgets, and finding out a random victim's e-mail address and subscribe it to every advertisement letter you can find, 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 virtualized Sim replicas of each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I wiretap your telephone calls. I'd really like us to become an African-American comedy duo, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, I assume, in some other more cheerful reality among the infinite number of alternate universes out there. Take care of yourself and never forget to have your pets sprayed and neutered.
~ The big guy, with the axe, in the cupboard, just behind you. |