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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Santa,
I know this might seem like an omitted chapter from Dante´s Divine Comedy to you, seeing as we made all those plans to continue grossing out teens and old people with our cherished "skinny dip and snogging" expeditions to the fountain in the public square, 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 need need need need... well; I can't quite remember. 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 so fat that Jupiter orbits around you sometimes, and I am really your split personality, writing letters to itself and pretending to be an actual person. You like forcing naughty school children to read the Necronomicon, big butts, and sewing extra limbs onto your body, 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 mentions the words "obesity", "fat" and/or "pig" in my presence. 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, I think. Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you live, your name and what you look like, so beware.
~ A million monkeys hitting randomly on typewriters. |