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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Ex-Friend with Benefits,
I know this might seem like karmic kannibalism to you, seeing as we made all those plans to assassinate the Pope, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. 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 on my long list of middle-rated and easily forgotten ex's, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an agnostic, and I am a champion pie eating finalist. You like projectile vomiting, scratching yourself publicly, 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 our own mirror images. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "two", "inch" and "penis" in my presence. I'd really like us to become that kind of insufferable cinemagoers who've read the plot in advance and sits and yell out spoilers throughout the film to the annoyance of everyone else, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least while we were in separate cells at the police station. Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you masturbate, Friedrich Nietzsche kills God.
~ Sailor Moon. |