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Sunday, February 8, 2026
Dear lovely giraffe of a stepdaughter with whom I have had pleasant Banana Peeling.,
By the time you read this, I'll be selling my soul on eBay for 10,000 dollars. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with the restraining order and everything, I was scared to use the phone again. I know this might seem like a total violation of the laws of physics to you, seeing as we made all those plans to spend at least more than two hours together, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule. I want to tell you that I think you are a Cylon imposter, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are from another dimension, and I am a Mousketeer. You like playing Worms 3D, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and finding out a random victim's e-mail address and subscribe it to every advertisement letter you can find, 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 but only so I'll get another shot at killing your for real. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever the hypnotism I'm paying for wears off. I'd really like us to become snobbish self-styled intellectuals who always change the subject to 19th century Russian literature in order to look smart everytime a third person approaches, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least when we turned the clock forward a few hours and then pretended that something nice happened during that time (whereas nothing at all happened, really). Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm no longer in a coma.
~ God. P.S. This is what the alphabet would look like without Q and R. D.S. |