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Wednesday, January 28, 2026
Dear yesterday's news,
By the time you read this, I'll be omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but one of us has to go, and the strychnine I've been adding to your Corn Flakes doesn't seem to be working. I know this might seem like a sudden turn of events to you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly fade into non-existence, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need to go to the moon or a gay retared place. I want to tell you that I think you are evil incarnate, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the only one in the world who actually thinks Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer are funny, and I am a member of a religion that has repeatedly confirmed that people like that are going to burn in hell. You like laying on the floor with all the lights off, playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, and recommending suicide as the only viable cure for hiccups, 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 other species. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I go on another nightly tour to quench my vampiric thirst for human blood. I'd really like us to become Siamese twins (we might have to undergo an extensive surgery for that though), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, five past seven on Sunday November 3, 2003 springs to mind, for instance. Take care of yourself and never forget your true place in life (which is at my feet, groveling in abject obedience).
~ Yet Another Anonymous Sex Partner. |