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Friday, February 13, 2026
Dear
By the time you read this, I'll be omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I know what you're thinking: "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk? I know this might seem like an odd twist of fate to you, seeing as we made all those plans to trade all our remaining STDs even-steven, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need nails, matches and a voodoo doll of you. I want to tell you that I think you are dumb as a rock, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are scared of sheep,
and I am disappointed.
You like traveling to other cities and showing up uninvited at total strangers' birthday parties, huffing kittens, and gas tungsten arc welding,
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 people without AIDS.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need to I'd really like us to become people that ignore each other in public, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before the police accidentally found the body hidden in your closet. 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.
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