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Sunday, February 22, 2026
Dear Person To Whom It May Concern,
By the time you read this, I'll be wiretapping your telephone calls. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but well... no, I'm not sorry. Lying was always my worst problem with you, and I'm sorry. No. No, I'm not. I know this might seem like a sudden turn of events 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 another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need need need need need... well; I can't quite remember. I want to tell you that I think you are not the worst lover I ever had, but that would be a bald-faced lie, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are possessed by Pazuzu, and I am fucked up for life after 15 years of heavy heroin abuse. You like attacking clergymen, dating circus midgets, and igniting your own fart, 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 species. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I desperately try another time traveling session to prevent the sad chain of events that led me to meet you in the first place. 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, with that goat up in the Himalayas. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm much happier without you.
~ Your favorite drugdealer. |