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Wednesday, November 12, 2025
Dear John Bull,
By the time you read this, I'll be eaten by a grue. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I have stolen three nuclear warheads and am planning to commit suicide by detonating them (in midtown New York, just to spice things up). I know this might seem like a big surprise to you, seeing as we made all those plans to infiltrate the "Save the Children" organization and shamelessly purloin their charity funds, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly. I want to tell you that I think you are the unidentified person I ran over with my truck at 10:40 P.M. yesterday, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a furry, and I am allergic to air. You like flicking staples at livestock, filling stuffed animals with ice cream, and filling guinea pigs with helium, 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 again, but in another life — preferably a previous one. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever it is that I need to confess my most heinous sins on my deathbed. I'd really like us to become old without ever speaking to, or thinking of, each other ever again, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, while we were three thousand miles away from each other. Take care of yourself and never forget that you've only got one bullet left, it's going to take more than that to stop me.
~ Grand Admiral of Switzerland. |