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Thursday, February 5, 2026
Dear yesterday's news,
By the time you read this, I'll be transferring the last of our mutual savings to a bank account in Geneva. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with your breath, a letter seemed the safest option. I know this might seem like a bit of a shock to you, seeing as we made all those plans to hack into Pentagon's databases and expose the alien cover-up in Roswell, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — I think. I just need to kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly. I want to tell you that I think you are not as good looking as your MySpace photo made it appear, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are not even real, just a Sim character I created last week in The Sims 3, and I am everything you will never be. You like stomping on turtles after eating mushrooms, stabbing yourself with carrots, and finding out a random victim's e-mail address and subscribe it to every advertisement letter you can find, 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 each other's pets. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm pissed off. I'd really like us to become supervillains and plot to conquer the world together (after which I will kill you as there can only be one true Master), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas. Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you masturbate, Friedrich Nietzsche kills God.
P.S. Remember to drink the nut-flavored tea I poured you today. D.S. |