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Thursday, November 27, 2025
Dear Mario,
By the time you read this, I'll be aiming at you with a sniper rifle. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your voice is so grating that another few phone calls from you would have left me deaf for life by the end of the year. I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts to you, seeing as we made all those plans to destroy the universe, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need more sex, and for longer than the 3 minutes and 2 inches you're able to provide... or was it the other way around? Anyway... I want to tell you that I think you are at least somewhat humanoid looking (which is about the only thing you have in common with mainstream humanity), but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an atheist, and I am stuck in an elevator with Alessandra Ambrosio (OK, the first part is true, the second is just me daydreaming). You like flicking staples at livestock, dating circus midgets, and biking against red light at rush hour, 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 each other as soon as possible, since the Internet connection on my computer isn't working, and I figured I could browse through your computer during our "date". But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I run around screaming and foaming in my padded cell. I'd really like us to become people that pretend they never dated, 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 that every time you wish for coal as a Christmas present, you'll get porridge instead.
~ Bruce Wayne. |