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Dear future murder victim nr. 34,
By the time you read this, I'll be a blowing rich, retired businessmen on a slow boat to China. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but seeing you without makeup made homosexuality suddenly seem very feasible to me. I know this might seem like a sinister scheme from me to stage an "accident" and claim the life insurance policy on you (which it is) 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 honestly, putting my hamster in the microwave was too much. 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 really quite adequate, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Sagittarius, and I am a grue and will certainly eat you the next time we meet. You like sprinting through morning traffic while on fire, lassoing people on subway cars, and smelling your fingers, 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 virtualized Sim replicas of each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need another scullery maid. I'd really like us to become jaded, cynical and bitter in our own different ways, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, up until the effect of the morphine wore off. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm much happier without you.
~ That old woman next door. |