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Dear Flavour of the Month,
By the time you read this, I'll be writing to Uncyclopedia. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but you win some, you lose some - and in your case, you lose everything. I know this might seem like a disappointing turn for the worse to you, seeing as we made all those plans to drink the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need more sex, and for longer than the 3 minutes and 2 inches you're able to provide... or was it the other way around? Anyway... I want to tell you that I think you are not the worst lover I ever had, but that would be a bald-faced lie, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are from another dimension, and I am enigmatic. You like guessing the weight of elderly women, big butts, and making faces at babies until they cry, 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 — oh wait, I meant to write "hate" of course. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm too lazy to clean my dishes by myself. I'd really like us to become a Heathcliff and Catherine-like ghost couple and creep out softhearted onlookers in our restless afterlife, 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 have your pets sprayed and neutered.
~ Princess Peach. |