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Thursday, November 13, 2025
Dear Poster Child for the Criminally Insane,
By the time you read this, I'll be in midtown London on a massive shopping spree with your credit card that I kind of "borrowed" earlier today (the pincode is 8391, isn't it?). I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I've misplaced my copy of Paul Simon's "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover" and I had to improvise. I know this might seem like an Uncyclopedia in-joke to you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit Easter Island and go on an egg hunt, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but if the writing's a but shakey that's only because of my helpless, loud and hysterical laughter. I just need to kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly. I want to tell you that I think you are a mammal, 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 Republican. You like other men, contemplating suicide (but always being so damned indecisive), and disturbing annual sci-fi conventions with whistles and cymbals, 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 find another piece of Titanic buried in my backyard. I'd really like us to become Siamese twins (we might have to undergo an extensive surgery for that though), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least while we were in separate cells at the police station. Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you buried the body, and won't hesitate to contact police should the need arise.
~ Name and address withheld. |