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Sunday, February 8, 2026
Dear future amnesiac self,
By the time you read this, I'll be the first triple MILLION winner EVER in the NATIONAL LOTTERY! Yay. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I know what you're thinking: "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk? I know this might seem like a sudden turn of events to you, seeing as we made all those plans to buy a million rubber ducks for all our retirement savings, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high. 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 ...exceedingly punctual, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pedophile, and I am an Uncyclopedia in-joke. You like stomping on turtles after eating mushrooms, huffing kittens, and belly-button sniffing, 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 spy on you and your secret lover with the telescope from the treehouse across the street. I'd really like us to become friends, but I think that won't happen. I'd rather not speak to you again, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, well, no... but no-one else has to know that. Take care of yourself and never forget that I have your son and will kill him unless you transfer five million dollars to my bank account by next Thursday.
~ Your favorite drugdealer. P.S. I have two tickets to Planet Hollywood and was wondering if you'd like to come with me? You know, just in memory of the good 'ol days? D.S. |