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Tuesday, December 2, 2025
Dear [insert name of recipient here],
By the time you read this, I'll be fatally assaulted by rabid squirrels. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your feelings are inherently less valuable than mine. I know this might seem like a crappy thing to do to you, seeing as we made all those plans to live together in happily unwedded bliss, or a reasonable facsimile, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. I just need nails, matches and a voodoo doll of you. I want to tell you that I think you are the creep who's making all those nightly phone calls where only heavy breathing is heard, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Nazi war criminal, and I am a champion pie eating finalist. You like playing Worms 3D, filling stuffed animals with ice cream, and writing love letters to Bob Saget, 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 want to, which isn't often. I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm being entirely serious.
~ The collective members of your band. P.S. This is what the alphabet would look like without Q and R. D.S. |