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Monday, September 15, 2025
Dear Azathoth,
By the time you read this, I'll be burnt at stake by the Spanish Inquisition.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I know this might seem like an omitted chapter from Dante´s Divine Comedy to you, seeing as we made all those plans to trade all our remaining STDs even-steven, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. I just need to put this facade you've been living to an end, before I run out of script material. Ghostwriters cost a fortune. I want to tell you that I think you are on my long list of middle-rated and easily forgotten ex's, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are possessed by Pazuzu, 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 other men, tripping on your own shoelaces on purpose just so you can blame the Jews for it, and sewing extra limbs onto your body, 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 in Tomorrowland. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I walk past the ape cages at the zoo. I'd really like us to become old without ever speaking to, or thinking of, each other ever again, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, but then I woke up and realised that it was just a dream. Take care of yourself and never forget that I have your son and will kill him unless you transfer five million dollars to my bank account by next Thursday.
~ God. |