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Dear pointless entity,
By the time you read this, I'll be you. 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 change to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push the boundaries of human genetics past the point of good taste by procreating, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — sorry that I didn't take the chance to get rid of you last month, but I promise I'll make up for it the next time we meet. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly. 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 a card-carrying member of the Hair Club for Men, and I am allergic to air. You like toying with mousetraps, big butts, and smelling other people's fingers, 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 — oh wait, I meant to write "hate" of course. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I sharpen my hunting knife out in the garage. I'd really like us to become permanently estranged, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least during those many hours of drug and alcohol induced unconsciousness. Take care of yourself and never forget that your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.
~ The queen of Doggerland. P.S. I think I ran over your mom with my car earlier today. At least I think it was her, but there wasn't much left to identify... D.S. |