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Saturday, December 27, 2025
Dear Azathoth,
By the time you read this, I'll be converting my house into an undead bastion. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but you win some, you lose some - and in your case, you lose everything. I know this might seem like a sudden turn of events to you, seeing as we made all those plans to hack into Pentagon's databases and expose the alien cover-up in Roswell, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — I think. 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 on my long list of middle-rated and easily forgotten ex's, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a balloon animal fan, and I am suicidal. You like toying with mousetraps, juggling chainsaws, and gas tungsten arc welding, 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 virtualized Sim replicas of each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I completely run out of other, far more important things to think about. I'd really like us to become a Heathcliff and Catherine-like ghost couple and creep out softhearted onlookers in our restless afterlife, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm being entirely serious.
~ The itsy bitsy spider. P.S. I poured some arsenic into your food yesterday. Shows what I think of infidelity, you unfaithful wench! D.S. |