 |
  |
 |
Sunday, November 9, 2025
Dear wife nr. 11,
By the time you read this, I'll be composing a concerto for 3 bassoons and a trombone. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with all the botox in your face, I might as well be fraternizing with mannequins instead. At least those don't have every STD known to man... I know this might seem like a disappointing turn for the worse to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, 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 finish that annoying Zork game on that Uncyclopedia website I told you about yesterday (it's driving me crazy, it's like no matter what you do, you'll ALWAYS end up being eaten by a grue!). I want to tell you that I think you are ...exceedingly punctual, 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 Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next. You like navel lint collecting, carving CD's into lethal shurikens with which to... kill people, and biking against red light at rush hour, 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 everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I forget what your name was. I'd really like us to become slowly solidified into a kind of buttery jell, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before I decided to read through your diary last week. Take care of yourself and never forget that your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.
~ Your alternate reality granddaughter. P.S. I just found out that I have AIDS. That probably means you have it too. D.S. |