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Dear you with that unpronouncable name,
By the time you read this, I'll be hitchhiking to Wal-Mart to choose your replacement.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I know this might seem like , complicated, bewildering, and kind of erotic to you, seeing as we made all those plans to drink the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale. It can not be corrected but I have no other way to fulfill my needs. I want to tell you that I think you are going to get coal for Christmas this year, being as naughty as you are, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Nazi war criminal, and I am stuck in an elevator and slowly succumbing to my own flatulence (since I had nothing but pea soup and brown beans this morning). You like imitating 50s actors while shoe shopping, stabbing yourself with carrots, and smelling other people's 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 on other planets. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever my herpes sores erupt. I'd really like us to become people that ignore each other in public, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, assuming that "good times" is just another way of saying "total suckage". Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you buried the body, and won't hesitate to contact police should the need arise.
~ Bruce Wayne. |