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Sunday, February 15, 2026
Dear Prisoner nr. 336,
By the time you read this, I'll be a member of the Fantastic Four.
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 a very large malignant tumour on your L4 vertebrae (and to be truthful, it is) to you, seeing as we made all those plans to buy a million rubber ducks for all our retirement savings, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — I think. 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 my repressed masculine side, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are one of Evil Bert's sinister henchmen, and I am pregnant. You like stamp collecting, pretending to be Captain America, and dissecting frogs with butterknives, 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 virtualized Sim replicas of each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I wiretap your telephone calls. I'd really like us to become Siamese twins (we might have to undergo an extensive surgery for that though), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, well, no... but no-one else has to know that. Take care of yourself and never forget to brush your teeth. Oh wait; you don't have any, you toothless old fuck.
~ Your Siamese twin. |