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Sunday, January 25, 2026
Dear Poster Child for the Criminally Insane,
By the time you read this, I'll be mutated into something unrecognizable. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but time is money, and according to your most current bank statement you have insufficient funds to purchase additional time credits with me. I know this might seem like an Uncyclopedia in-joke to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, 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 to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale. It can not be corrected but I have no other way to fulfill my needs. I want to tell you that I think you are strangely charismatic, considering your freakishly odd appearance, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are so fat that Jupiter orbits around you sometimes, and I am stuck in an elevator and slowly succumbing to my own flatulence (since I had nothing but pea soup and brown beans this morning). You like projectile vomiting, harassing sheep until they explode, 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 for the hell of it. It's not like we don't both have herpes. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I spy on you and your secret lover with the telescope from the treehouse across the street. I'd really like us to become people that pretend they never dated, 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 that time when I showed everyone a picture of your penis. That was funny.
~ Jane. |