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Dear tomorrow's headlines,
By the time you read this, I'll be in ur pet store, huffing ur kittenz. 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 punch in the jaw to you, seeing as we made all those plans to infiltrate the "Save the Children" organization and shamelessly purloin their charity funds, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but if the writing's a but shakey that's only because of my helpless, loud and hysterical laughter. 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 in need of some serious physical therapy against your hideous acid breath, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Sagittarius, and I am that lonely obsessed stalker who refused to just settle for your autograph. You like projectile vomiting, big butts, and smelling other people's 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 other species. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever my herpes sores erupt. I'd really like us to become a Heathcliff and Catherine-like ghost couple and creep out softhearted onlookers in our restless afterlife, 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.
~ The Samaritans. |