 |
  |
 |
Tuesday, January 13, 2026
Dear Mystery Man,
By the time you read this, I'll be stranded on a deserted island. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I don't think I could restrain myself from laughing about what I saw last night. I know this might seem like a letter of indulgence to you, seeing as we made all those plans to trade all our remaining STDs even-steven, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but honestly, putting my hamster in the microwave was too much. I just need more space. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan is sounding pretty nice to me right now. I want to tell you that I think you are a virgin, 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 a member of a religion that has repeatedly confirmed that people like that are going to burn in hell. You like traveling to other cities and showing up uninvited at total strangers' birthday parties, scratching yourself publicly, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans, 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 must scream for help because someone has raped me (again). I'd really like us to become that kind of insufferable cinemagoers who've read the plot in advance and sit and yell out spoilers throughout the film to the annoyance of everyone else, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, or so we'll pretend. Take care of yourself and never forget your true place in life (which is at my feet, groveling in abject obedience).
~ Your alternate reality granddaughter. |