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Friday, January 23, 2026
Dear Person To Whom It May Concern,
By the time you read this, I'll be transferring my child porn collection into your computer and turning it in for repair. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but my sadistic urges have become completely uncontrollable, and I don’t think I can see you again without having to torture you. I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts to you, seeing as we made all those plans to kidnap a first-grade school class together, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high. I just need to plot your murder for another week and I'm set to go. I want to tell you that I think you are like a senile old parrot, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a balloon animal fan, and I am the main character in a really crappy pulp horror novel about rabid watermelons. You like caressing lamp accessories, playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, and feeding rice to sea gulls, 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 other people. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need to tell my side of the story on Jerry Springer. I'd really like us to become old without ever speaking to, or thinking of, each other ever again, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least when we turned the clock forward a few hours and then pretended that something nice happened during that time (whereas nothing at all happened, really). Take care of yourself and never forget where you leave the keys. Honestly, those things are are a PAIN to find again.
~ Your alternate reality granddaughter. P.S. You forgot your dildo at my place when you visited me last Sunday. D.S. |