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Wednesday, September 24, 2025
Dear whatever your name may be,
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 I'm not getting any younger, and you're not getting any richer. I know this might seem like a very large malignant tumour on your L4 vertebrae (and to be truthful, it is) to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push the boundaries of human genetics past the point of good taste by procreating, 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 length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age. I want to tell you that I think you are exceptionally undistinguished, in a boring, non-threatening way, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Democrat, and I am into bodysurfing. You like stamp collecting, 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 mentions the words "two", "inch" and "penis" in my presence. I'd really like us to become ultranerds who always write in leet speech and use Internet abbreviations such as LOL, ITA, IIRC, YMMV and IMHO in common speech, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, I think. Take care of yourself and never forget to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.
~ The big guy, with the axe, in the cupboard, just behind you. |