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Sunday, December 21, 2025
Dear lovely giraffe of a stepdaughter with whom I have had pleasant Banana Peeling.,
By the time you read this, I'll be married. I regret to inform you that there were a number of contestants for my affections, and you were not the winner.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but no, I am not going to stop sending these letters just because the judge I know this might seem like , well... inevitable, really, to you, seeing as we made all those plans to drink the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq, 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 engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale. It can not be corrected but I have no other way to fulfill my needs. I want to tell you that I think you are strangely charismatic, considering your freakishly odd appearance, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are from another dimension, and I am a serial killer convicted for the deaths of 43 people. You like harassing sleeping rottweilers, putting things on springs, and playing King Kong with dollhouses in toystores (and going to jail for it), 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 I need another scullery maid. I'd really like us to become permanently estranged, 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 despite all the nonsense I've written in this letter, I'm still going to track you down and kill you.
~ Cato the Elder. |