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Dear pointless entity,
By the time you read this, I'll be transferring my consciousness to a member of an extinct race of sentient egg-plants on planet Vollapus 620 million years ago. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with your breath, a letter seemed the safest option. I know this might seem like an Uncyclopedia in-joke to you, seeing as we made all those plans to drink the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. I just need need need need need... well; I can't quite remember. I want to tell you that I think you are ...exceedingly punctual, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nobody, and I am a fucked-up loser who only likes to hang around you because of your money. You like sucking off the black guy that mows your lawn, juggling chainsaws, and genitally piercing unsuspecting strangers in unemployment line queues, 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 when Hell freezes over. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "anorexia", "bulimia" and/or "starvation" in my presence. 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, I assume, in some other more cheerful reality among the infinite number of alternate universes out there. Take care of yourself and never forget to have your pets sprayed and neutered.
~ Sheila (my street name). |