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Monday, February 16, 2026
Dear hooker I slept with in Vegas,
By the time you read this, I'll be constrained within a straight-jacket in some place soft, drooling obscenely over your past nude pictures. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but my sadistic urges have become completely uncontrollable, and I don’t think I can see you again without having to torture you. I know this might seem like a bit of a shock to you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit Easter Island and go on an egg hunt, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations. I just need to finish that annoying Zork game on that Uncyclopedia website I told you about yesterday (it's driving me crazy, it's like no matter what you do, you'll ALWAYS end up being eaten by a grue!). I want to tell you that I think you are a..well...um...okay, nice...yeah...maybe, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the demi-duchess of Kumswalla, 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 flicking staples at livestock, recording your own toilet visits and sharing it on file sharing networks as MP3's wrongfully named as famous songs, and accusing comatose patients of laziness, 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, but only if we're re-incarnated into each other's bodies and I get to be "you" next time. Oh yes. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm pissed off. I'd really like us to become an African-American comedy duo, 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 each day of your life may be the last as long as I'm around.
~ That Guy. |