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Dear Miss Universe,
By the time you read this, I'll be hiding under your bed with a butcher's knife. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like the world isn't going to end on December 21, 2012 anyway. I know this might seem like , complicated, bewildering, and kind of erotic to you, seeing as we made all those plans to destroy the universe, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. I just need a dirty magazine, my right hand and a toilet paper — that's all it takes, really. I want to tell you that I think you are at least somewhat humanoid looking (which is about the only thing you have in common with mainstream humanity), but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the latest addition to my evergrowing list of people I'm planning to kill, and I am your father. You like laying on the floor with all the lights off, contemplating suicide (but always being so damned indecisive), and nibbling off wires to public computers at libraries and Internet cafés, 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 I need someone to help me move. I'd really like us to become nihilistic Al-Qaeda terrorists and blow up everything that moves, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, but then I woke up and realised that it was just a dream. Take care of yourself and never forget that I still have your diary and can at any time mail the most embarrassing parts (like the chapter about the summer of '04) of it to The New York Times.
~ [Insert name of author here]. P.S. Do you know what the blue rhino said to the green elephant? If so, write it to me in return, because I don't. D.S. |