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Dear Mulder and Scully,
By the time you read this, I'll be eating your liver with fava beans and a nice chianti. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your voice is so grating that another few phone calls from you would have left me deaf for life by the end of the year. I know this might seem like a sudden change to you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit your grandparents to give them a big ol' kiss, 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 engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale. It can not be corrected but I have no other way to fulfill my needs. I want to tell you that I think you are Jimbo, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the latest addition to my evergrowing list of people I'm planning to kill, and I am a nun. You like flaying lambs, stabbing yourself with carrots, 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 my herpes sores erupt. I'd really like us to become supervillains and plot to conquer the world together (after which I will kill you as there can only be one true Master), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, my left hand and I. Take care of yourself and never forget that your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.
~ Your intestinal parasite. P.S. Can I borrow 5 bucks? D.S. |