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Sunday, December 22, 2024
By the time you read this, I'll be captured by the FBI. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but my eyes have yet to fully recover from last week when your wig fell off. I know this might seem like I'm into polygamy or something just because I have five wives at the same time, but I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. 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 not the worst lover I ever had, but that would be a bald-faced lie, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a balloon animal fan, and I am your father. You like traveling to other cities and showing up uninvited at total strangers' birthday parties, gay midgets, and accusing comatose patients of laziness, 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 my house is in need of some serious cleaning up. I'd really like us to become old without ever speaking to, or thinking of, each other ever again, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before you decided to become yourself and get to be so much of a stuck-up prig. Take care of yourself and never forget the restraining order the judge issued against you.
~ The queen of Doggerland. P.S. I think I ran over your mom with my car earlier today. At least I think it was her, but there wasn't much left to identify... D.S. |