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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Thursday, October 30, 2025
Dear whatever your name may be,
I know this might seem like an episode of Days of Our Lives to you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit Easter Island and go on an egg hunt, 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 more sex, and for longer than the 3 minutes and 2 inches you're able to provide... or was it the other way around? Anyway... I want to tell you that I think you are my repressed masculine side, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a good-for-nothing crack whore, and I am scared of donuts. You like bathing in gasoline, 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 just as long as you are willing to spend half your life hanging by your pinkie toes, for that's the type of torture I have planned for you.. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone jokingly claims that there's a monster standing behind me. I'd really like us to become an African-American comedy duo, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, unless I was just dreaming. Take care of yourself and never forget to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.
~ Princess Peach. |