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Tuesday, January 27, 2026
Dear lovely giraffe of a stepdaughter with whom I have had pleasant Banana Peeling.,
By the time you read this, I'll be on a ferry to Mongolia. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but seeing you without makeup made homosexuality suddenly seem very feasible to me. 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 — at least so long as I remain high. I just need to put this facade you've been living to an end, before I run out of script material. Ghostwriters cost a fortune. I want to tell you that I think you are going to get coal for Christmas this year, being as naughty as you are, 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 fucked up for life after 15 years of heavy heroin abuse. You like caressing lamp accessories, huffing kittens, and feeding rice to sea gulls, 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 when Hell freezes over. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever the police ask me where I bought the stuff. I'd really like us to become slowly solidified into a kind of buttery jell, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas. Take care of yourself and never forget that the xenomorph implanted in your chest is going to erupt and kill you violently within two hours.
~ Anonymous. |