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Thursday, November 27, 2025
Dear you with that unpronouncable name,
By the time you read this, I'll be a blowing rich, retired businessmen on a slow boat to China. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but well... no, I'm not sorry. Lying was always my worst problem with you, and I'm sorry. No. No, I'm not. I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts to you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly fade into non-existence, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need more cowbell. I want to tell you that I think you are like an impudent grain of sand, warring against a raging ocean, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an epic fail, and I am not. You like bungee jumping from church steeples, huffing kittens, and watching DaxFlame on YouTube while singing "Lucy in the Sky of Diamonds", 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 people without AIDS. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I assassinate an infidel. I'd really like us to become jaded, cynical and bitter in our own different ways, 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 to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.
~ Your former sister-in-law. P.S. This is what the alphabet would look like without Q and R. D.S. |