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Saturday, February 28, 2026
Dear all-boobs-and-no-brains,
By the time you read this, I'll be having future visions of myself in April 29, 2010. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like I'm not going to kill you on Saturday anyway. I know this might seem like an insidious scheme to dominate the universe to you, seeing as we made all those plans to spend at least more than two hours together, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need more cowbell. I want to tell you that I think you are ...more than passable, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Nazi war criminal, and I am a grue and will certainly eat you the next time we meet. You like bothering foraging bears, masturbating to gardening shows, and watching DaxFlame on YouTube while singing "Lucy in the Sky of Diamonds", 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 on other planets. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm too lazy to clean my dishes by myself. 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, at least when we turned the clock forward a few hours and then pretended that something nice happened during that time (whereas nothing at all happened, really). Take care of yourself and never forget that it's going to take more than a restraining order to keep me away from our children — they are mine too and I will not be denied them.
~ Alan Smithee. |