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Dear Azathoth,
By the time you read this, I'll be waiting for you in the closet with a butcher's knife. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with the restraining order and everything, I was scared to use the phone again. I know this might seem like a very large malignant tumour on your L4 vertebrae (and to be truthful, it is) to you, seeing as we made all those plans to kill your parents and claim the life insurance money, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations. 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 evil incarnate, 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 worried about it. You like bathing in gasoline, huffing kittens, and watching DaxFlame on YouTube while singing "Lucy in the Sky of Diamonds", 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 finally track you down and kill you. 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, before the psychiatrist told me that you're just a figment of my imagination. Take care of yourself and never forget to brush your teeth. Oh wait; you don't have any, you toothless old fuck.
~ The unmentionable one. |