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Wednesday, February 25, 2026
Dear Azathoth,
By the time you read this, I'll be ill in Swine Flu.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but no, I am not going to stop sending these letters just because the judge I know this might seem like , well... inevitable, really, to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push you into the sea tied to a large brick, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little... I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually. I want to tell you that I think you are evil and manipulative, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nobody, and I am on drugs. You like imitating 50s actors while shoe shopping, filling stuffed animals with ice cream, and watching animal porn, 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 other species. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever the police ask me where I bought the stuff. I'd really like us to become theatrical actors in a Romeo & Juliet play, except we'll kill ourselves for real in the end just for the sake of realism, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, I think. Take care of yourself and never forget where you leave the keys. Honestly, those things are are a PAIN to find again.
~ Grand Admiral of Switzerland. |