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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear "Mr. Tiny",
I know this might seem like an episode of Days of Our Lives to you, seeing as we made all those plans to adopt a child from a third world country for media publicity, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need to finish that annoying Zork game on that Uncyclopedia website I told you about yesterday (it's driving me crazy, it's like no matter what you do, you'll ALWAYS end up being eaten by a grue!). I want to tell you that I think you are so incredibly full of shit that it's a miracle that you haven't exploded into a cascading rivulet of foul smelling excrements yet, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are under surveillance by the CIA, and I am a champion pie eating finalist. You like having sex in dumpsters, recording your own toilet visits and sharing it on file sharing networks as MP3's wrongfully named as famous songs, and gas tungsten arc welding, 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 again, but in another life — preferably a previous one. 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 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, nah; I'm just screwing with you. Take care of yourself and never forget that each day of your life may be the last as long as I'm around.
~ Sheila (my street name).
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