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Dear [insert name of recipient here],
By the time you read this, I'll be ill in Swine Flu. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like the world isn't going to end on December 21, 2012 anyway. I know this might seem like a big sick demented joke in a vortex of meaninglessness to you, seeing as we made all those plans to sink the British isles, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — sorry that I didn't take the chance to get rid of you last month, but I promise I'll make up for it the next time we meet. I just need a bit of a laugh. I want to tell you that I think you are the worst Tetris player ever, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Democrat, and I am your father. You like traveling to other cities and showing up uninvited at total strangers' birthday parties, recording your own toilet visits and sharing it on file sharing networks as MP3's wrongfully named as famous songs, and genitally piercing unsuspecting strangers in unemployment line queues, 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 but only so I'll get another shot at killing your for real. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need someone to help me move. I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, during my opiate daydream earlier today, after which I woke up to the cold and harsh reality again. Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you live, your name and what you look like, so beware.
~ Your Siamese twin. |