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Dear Cthulhu,
By the time you read this, I'll be in R'lyeh at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, worshiping great Cthulhu. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but to be honest, I'd be more sorry if I were to stay. I know this might seem like an episode of Days of Our Lives to you, seeing as we made all those plans to kidnap a first-grade school class together, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but honestly, putting my hamster in the microwave was too much. I just need more sex, and for longer than the 3 minutes and 2 inches you're able to provide... or was it the other way around? Anyway... I want to tell you that I think you are my repressed feminine side, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the demi-duchess of Kumswalla, and I am a nun. You like urine sample collecting, recording your own toilet visits and sharing it on file sharing networks as MP3's wrongfully named as famous songs, and belly-button sniffing, 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 spy on your naked self with the hidden camera I've installed in your shower stall. I'd really like us to become ultranerds who always write in leet speech and use Internet abbreviations such as LOL, ITA, IIRC, YMMV and IMHO in common speech, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, while we were three thousand miles away from each other. Take care of yourself and never forget that I have your son and will kill him unless you transfer five million dollars to my bank account by next Thursday.
~ That old woman next door. P.S. Now I have a machine gun. Ho ho ho. D.S. |