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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Sunday, September 20, 2026
Dear Loser,
I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high. 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 the Mr. Hyde to my Doctor Jekyll, 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 serial killer convicted for the deaths of 94 people. You like urine sample collecting, dating circus midgets, and accusing comatose patients of lazyness, 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 virtualized Sim replicas of each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need to tell my side of the story on Jerry Springer. I'd really like us to become born-again strangers, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, five past seven on Sunday November 3rd 2003 springs to mind, for instance. Take care of yourself and never forget our honeymoon on Pluto.
~ Grand Admiral of Switzerland.
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