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Monday, February 23, 2026
Dear Acquaintance,
By the time you read this, I'll be fatally assaulted by rabid squirrels.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I know this might seem like karmic kannibalism to you, seeing as we made all those plans to kill any infidel swine who refuses to submit to the ways of the Holy Qur'an and our great prophet Muhammad (peace by upon him), but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. 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 not as strong in the Force as the Emperor thought, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nothing, and I am vastly more intelligent than that. You like other men, putting things on springs, and disturbing annual sci-fi conventions with whistles and cymbals, 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 just as long as you are willing to spend half your life hanging by your pinkie toes, for that's the type of torture I have planned for you.. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I smell that characteristic composite stench of rotten eggs, garlic and blue cheese again. I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not, 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 how much lower your reputation will slip as soon as I publish this on my blog.
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