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Thursday, November 21, 2024
Dear pointless entity,
By the time you read this, I'll be tied to a score of helium balloons, thinking about some non-fatal way of coming back down to earth safely (help, please?). I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but attorneys cost money, and I'm eating for two now, if you know what I mean. I know this might seem like karmic kannibalism to you, seeing as we made all those plans to infiltrate the "Red Cross" organization and shamelessly purloin their charity funds, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but as a bisexual, I'm interested in only two kinds of people — and quite frankly, you don't fit into either category. I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually. I want to tell you that I think you are not as strong in the Force as the Emperor thought, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are under surveillance by the CIA, and I am deaf, dumb and blind. You like beating yourself up in front of a mirror, big butts, 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 for the hell of it. It's not like we don't both have herpes. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me if I've ever picked up a hitchhiker I really regret picking up. I'd really like us to become an African-American comedy duo, 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 I have your son and will kill him unless you transfer five million dollars to my bank account by next Thursday.
~ Your intestinal parasite. |