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Wednesday, January 28, 2026
Dear Sperm Donor,
By the time you read this, I'll be at the Prancing Pony, waiting for the wizard to arrive. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I have stolen three nuclear warheads and am planning to commit suicide by detonating them (in midtown New York, just to spice things up). 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 another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour. 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 the true identity of the Zodiac Killer, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nobody, and I am a serial killer convicted for the deaths of 35 people. You like beating yourself up in front of a mirror, putting things on springs, and writing love letters to Bob Saget, 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 on Friday and then try to kill each other through strangulation (or with knives) just for fun. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I completely run out of other, far more important things to think about. 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, or so we'll pretend. Take care of yourself and never forget our honeymoon on Planet Hollywood.
~ God. |