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Tuesday, October 14, 2025
Dear
By the time you read this, I'll be chasing your helpless grandma around with a huge fucking monster truck. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like the world isn't going to end on December 21, 2012 anyway. I know this might seem like a slap in the face to you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit Easter Island and go on an egg hunt, 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 more time alone. No... More time away from you. All of it, really. Yeah. That's what I mean to say. I want to tell you that I think you are a fucking ugly bitch, and I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an epic fail, and I am an amateur weightlifter. You like sucking off the black guy that mows your lawn, putting things on springs, 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 each other as soon as possible, since the Internet connection on my computer isn't working, and I figured I could browse through your computer during our "date". But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I walk past the ape cages at the zoo. I'd really like us to become an African-American comedy duo, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, five past seven on Sunday November 3, 2003 springs to mind, for instance. Take care of yourself and never forget that despite all the nonsense I've written in this letter, I'm still going to track you down and kill you.
~ [Insert name of author here]. P.S. Give me five million dollars now, or I'll scratch my own eyeballs out. Just kidding, he he he! I bet you fell for that one. D.S. |