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Saturday, February 7, 2026
Dear lovely giraffe of a stepdaughter with whom I have had pleasant Banana Peeling.,
By the time you read this, I'll be held at gunpoint by my twisted aunt Maggie for stealing cookies from the cookie jar. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like I'm not going to kill you on Saturday anyway. I know this might seem like I'm into polygamy or something just because I have five wives at the same time, but I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little... I just need to go to the moon or a gay retared place. I want to tell you that I think you are dumb as a rock, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are one of Evil Bert's sinister henchmen, and I am vastly more intelligent than that. You like smoking banana peels, playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, and biking against red light at rush hour, 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 watch Aphex Twin's music video for Windowlicker and the "hot babe" turns around. I'd really like us to become supervillains and plot to conquer the world together (after which I will kill you as there can only be one true Master), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least during those many hours of drug and alcohol induced unconsciousness. Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you masturbate, Friedrich Nietzsche kills God.
~ Your sister. P.S. Now I have a machine gun. Ho ho ho. D.S. |
