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By the time you read this, I'll be the first triple MILLION winner EVER in the NATIONAL LOTTERY! Yay.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but no, I am not going to stop sending these letters just because the judge I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts 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 — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually. I want to tell you that I think you are the true identity of the Zodiac Killer, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Sagittarius, and I am really your split personality, writing letters to itself and pretending to be an actual person. You like forcing naughty school children to read the Necronomicon, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and recommending suicide as the only viable cure for hiccups, 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 in Hell, after killing each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "ugly", "useless" and/or "stupid" in my presence. 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, well, no... but no-one else has to know that. Take care of yourself and never forget that the world is going to end unless you enter the code "4 8 15 16 23 42" into the micro-computer every 108th minute.
~ The Speaking Clock. P.S. I accidentally dropped your cat into a bowl of hydrochloric acid yesterday. I'm afraid she got sent to the cornfield. Sorry about that. D.S. |