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Friday, November 21, 2025
Dear Miss Chernobyl,
By the time you read this, I'll be having future visions of myself in April 29, 2010. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like the world isn't going to end on December 21, 2012 anyway. I know this might seem like an unexpected departure to you, seeing as we made all those plans to sink the British isles, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — I think. 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 evil and manipulative, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the demi-duchess of Kumswalla, and I am on my own plane of psychological existence. You like caressing lamp accessories, harassing sheep until they explode, and practicing surgery on household pests, 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 but only so I'll get another shot at killing your for real. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "anorexia", "bulimia" and/or "starvation" in my presence. I'd really like us to become born-again strangers, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, assuming that "good times" is just another way of saying "total suckage". Take care of yourself and never forget that it's going to take more than a restraining order to keep me away from our children — they are mine too and I will not be denied them.
~ Quinn the eskimo. P.S. I am your father. Search your feelings - you know it to be true. D.S. |