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Saturday, December 6, 2025
Dear Jimbo,
By the time you read this, I'll be feeding your pet goldfishes to my cats Hortensia and Petunia. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I have stolen three nuclear warheads and am planning to commit suicide by detonating them (in midtown New York, just to spice things up). I know this might seem like a sudden change to you, seeing as we made all those plans to suck out the souls of those unworthy of a vampiric prowess, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little... I just need a dirty magazine, my right hand and a toilet paper — that's all it takes, really. I want to tell you that I think you are dumb as a rock, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nobody, and I am a grue and will certainly eat you the next time we meet. You like flicking staples at livestock, pretending to be Captain America, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans, 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 watch Aphex Twin's music video for Windowlicker and the "hot babe" turns around. I'd really like us to become a Heathcliff and Catherine-like ghost couple and creep out softhearted onlookers in our restless afterlife, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before we ended up in Hell together. Take care of yourself and never forget that I have the sniper rifle, and I know how to use it.
~ Sailor Moon. |
