 |
  |
 |
Friday, November 14, 2025
Dear Captain Blackbeard,
By the time you read this, I'll be in sunny Hawaii, drinking cheaply priced beer and completing my memoirs. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with the restraining order and everything, I was scared to use the phone again. I know this might seem like a big sick demented joke in a vortex of meaninglessness to you, seeing as we made all those plans to suck out the souls of those unworthy of a vampiric prowess, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little... I just need more space. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan is sounding pretty nice to me right now. I want to tell you that I think you are like an impudent grain of sand, warring against a raging ocean, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are under surveillance by the CIA, and I am worried about it. You like toying with mousetraps, scratching yourself publicly, 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 people without AIDS. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever the police ask me where I bought the stuff. I'd really like us to become people that ignore each other in public, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, during my opiate daydream earlier today, after which I woke up to the cold and harsh reality again. Take care of yourself and never forget that you are now statistically 50% less likely to ever find a lasting and fulfilling relationship during your lifetime.
~ The big guy, with the axe, in the cupboard, just behind you. |