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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear you with that unpronouncable name,
I know this might seem like a big surprise to you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly cannibalize each other one bite at a time, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but as a bisexual, I'm interested in only two kinds of people — and quite frankly, you don't fit into either category. I just need more cowbell. I want to tell you that I think you are like an impudent grain of sand, warring against a raging ocean, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are scared of sheep, and I am not. You like bothering foraging bears, bobbing for old tires in the East River, 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 but only so I'll get another shot at killing your for real. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I assassinate an infidel. I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas. Take care of yourself and never forget to brush your teeth. Oh wait; you don't have any, you toothless old fuck.
~ The Pope. |