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Dear insignificant other,
By the time you read this, I'll be you. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but one of us has to go, and the strychnine I've been adding to your Corn Flakes doesn't seem to be working. I know this might seem like an Uncyclopedia in-joke to you, seeing as we made all those plans to spend at least more than two hours together, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but as a bisexual, I'm interested in only two kinds of people — and quite frankly, you don't fit into either category. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly. I want to tell you that I think you are my repressed masculine side, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pedophile, and I am enigmatic. You like bathing in gasoline, stabbing yourself with carrots, and feeding rice to sea gulls, 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 everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever a six-legged rhinoceros flies by. I'd really like us to become Siamese twins (we might have to undergo an extensive surgery for that though), 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 every time you masturbate, Friedrich Nietzsche kills God.
~ Concerned Citizen. |