Dear John letter

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Saturday, May 23, 2026

Dear Cthulhu,

By the time you read this, I'll be sacrificing myself to the Devil. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like the world isn't going to end on December 21, 2012 anyway.

I know this might seem like I'm into polygamy or something just because I have five wives at the same time, but Elisab... Rebecca... umm, I mean Sarah, you're the only one who truly matters, I swear. Surely our time together must still mean something to you, seeing as we made all those plans to sink the British isles, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but honestly, putting my hamster in the microwave was too much. I just need more cowbell.

I want to tell you that I think you are ...unusually odorous, in a good way... sometimes, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the demi-duchess of Kumswalla, and I am worried about it. You like toying with mousetraps, scratching yourself publicly, and watching animal porn, 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 — oh wait, I meant to write "hate" of course. 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 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, five past seven on Sunday November 3rd 2003 springs to mind, for instance.

Take care of yourself and never forget that I have your son and will kill him unless you transfer five million dollars to my bank account by next Thursday.

Pa Pa,

~ God.

P.S. Do you know what the blue rhino said to the green elephant? If so, write it to me in return, because I don't. D.S.