 |
  |
 |
By the time you read this, I'll be on a pilgrimage to Sears to buy "sporting goods" for my weekend adventure with the male cast members of "My Name Is Earl". I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with all the botox in your face, I might as well be fraternizing with mannequins instead. At least those don't have every STD known to man... I know this might seem like , complicated, bewildering, and kind of erotic to you, seeing as we made all those plans to burn down our neighbor's house, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high. I just need to go to the moon or a gay retared place. I want to tell you that I think you are strangely charismatic, considering your freakishly odd appearance, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an atheist,
and I am the creep who has been sending you human ears every Friday for the last eight months.
You like projectile vomiting, juggling chainsaws, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans,
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 for the hell of it. It's not like we don't both have herpes.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need to I'd really like us to become jaded, cynical and bitter in our own different ways, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, I assume, in some other more cheerful reality among the infinite number of alternate universes out there. Take care of yourself and never forget that you've only got one bullet left, it's going to take more than that to stop me.
|