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Thursday, February 5, 2026
Dear Long John Silver,
By the time you read this, I'll be burning in hell for my sins. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with the restraining order and everything, I was scared to use the phone again. I know this might seem like a slap in the face to you, seeing as we made all those plans to kill your parents and claim the life insurance money, 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 a Terminator sent from the future to kill me, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an agnostic, and I am vastly more intelligent than that. You like bothering foraging bears, talking like Captain Kirk, 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 on Friday and then try to kill each other through strangulation (or with knives) just for fun. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I walk past the ape cages at the zoo. I'd really like us to become bitter enemies, constantly plotting each other's downfall until one of us (preferably me) succeeds, giving that person (again, preferably me) the opportunity to engage in stereotypical maniacal laughter, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before I decided to read through your diary last week. Take care of yourself and never forget to brush your teeth. Oh wait; you don't have any, you toothless old fuck.
~ Hannibal Lecter. P.S. I just found out that I have AIDS. That probably means you have it too. D.S. |