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Saturday, February 7, 2026
Dear all-boobs-and-no-brains,
By the time you read this, I'll be a member of the Fantastic Four. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I'm not getting any younger, and you're not getting any richer. I know this might seem like a letter of indulgence to you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit your grandparents to give them a big ol' kiss, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little... I just need to enter "4 8 15 16 23 42" into my command prompt every 108th minute. I want to tell you that I think you are the worst Tetris player ever, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are not even real, just a Sim character I created last week in The Sims 3, and I am pregnant. You like wearing my knickers on your noggin, carving CD's into lethal shurikens with which to... kill people, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans, 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 again someday, but only if you go in for surgery and get your brain replaced. And your nose. Or to keep it simple, ask them to change everything but your name. Or have them change that as well, unless doing so would complicate billing. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I practice knife stabbing on mannequin dolls. 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, while we were three thousand miles away from each other. Take care of yourself and never forget that I have the Infinity Gauntlet and is thus the supreme being of this universe.
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