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Sunday, December 22, 2024
Dear John Malkovich,
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 you weren't at home, and anyways I forgot to bring my AK with me. I know this might seem like a bit of a shock to you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly cannibalize each other one bite at a time, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need more space. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan is sounding pretty nice to me right now. I want to tell you that I think you are not the worst lover I ever had, but that would be a bald-faced lie, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the demi-duchess of Kumswalla, and I am disappointed. You like wearing my knickers on your noggin, big butts, 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 — oh wait, I meant to write "hate" of course. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I wiretap your telephone calls. I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least before we met. Take care of yourself and never forget our honeymoon in Castle Greyscale.
~ The Joker. P.S. I poured some arsenic into your food yesterday. Shows what I think of infidelity, you unfaithful wench! D.S. |