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Tuesday, February 3, 2026
Dear Anonymous,
By the time you read this, I'll be transferring my child porn collection into your computer and turning it in for repair. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I'm not getting any younger, and you're not getting any richer. I know this might seem like a sinister scheme from me to stage an "accident" and claim the life insurance policy on you (which it is) to you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly cannibalize each other one bite at a time, 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 kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly. I want to tell you that I think you are Jimbo, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the latest addition to my evergrowing list of people I'm planning to kill, and I am an Uncyclopedia in-joke. You like navel lint collecting, contemplating suicide (but always being so damned indecisive), and filling guinea pigs with helium, 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 people. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I've poured rohypnol into your cocktail again. I'd really like us to become acquaintances, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, unless I was just dreaming. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm much happier without you.
~ The Pope. |