Dear Mulder and Scully,
By the time you read this, I'll be living in your house and drinking your coffee.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with all the botox in your face, I might as well be fraternizing with mannequins instead. At least those don't have every STD known to man...
I know this might seem like , complicated, bewildering, and kind of erotic
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to terrorize the elderly couple that lives down the road, 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 more men, on some kind of rotating schedule.
I want to tell you that I think you are perfectly looking, at least according to Neptunian standards, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are one of Evil Bert's sinister henchmen,
and I am disappointed.
You like groping fresh produce, filling stuffed animals with ice cream, and practicing surgery on household pests,
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 other species.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I run around screaming and foaming in my padded cell.
I'd really like us to become ultranerds who always writes in leet speech and uses Internet abbreviations such as LOL, ITA, IIRC, YMMV and IMHO in common speech,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas.
Take care of yourself and never forget to write down the number of every donkey cart that hits you.
Yours truly,
~ Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.
P.S. This is what the alphabet would look like without Q and R. D.S.
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