 |
  |
 |
Sunday, November 9, 2025
Dear tomorrow's headlines,
By the time you read this, I'll be on a murderous rampage downtown. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but enough is enough. I've HAD it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane! I know this might seem like a sudden turn of events to you, seeing as we made all those plans to run the 3rd marathon around the world together (tied together, that is), but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly. I want to tell you that I think you are a Cylon imposter, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pedophile, and I am an Uncyclopedia in-joke. You like groping fresh produce, dressing up as yourself during Halloween, 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 people without AIDS. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I forget what your name was. I'd really like us to become people that pretend they never dated, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, pretending we're screwing someone else. Take care of yourself and never forget to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.
~ Norman Bates. |