 |
  |
 |
Thursday, February 26, 2026
Dear Penis (with life support system attachment),
By the time you read this, I'll be fatally assaulted by rabid squirrels. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with your breath, a letter seemed the safest option. I know this might seem like a letter of indulgence to you, seeing as we made all those plans to blow up the moon together, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain intoxicated. I just need more time alone. No... More time away from you. All of it, really. Yeah. That's what I mean to say. I want to tell you that I think you are a fucking ugly bitch, and I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pederast, and I am worried about it. You like stamp collecting, talking like Captain Kirk, and smelling your fingers, 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 each other as soon as possible, since the Internet connection on my computer isn't working, and I figured I could browse through your computer during our "date". But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever my herpes sores erupt. I'd really like us to become nihilistic Al-Qaeda terrorists and blow up everything that moves, 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 I have the Infinity Gauntlet and is thus the supreme being of this universe.
~ Your sycophantic lodger whom you will never be rid of. |