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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Bob,
I know this might seem like a disappointing turn for the worse to you, seeing as we made all those plans to hack into Pentagon's databases and expose the alien cover-up in Roswell, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations. I just need to plot your murder for another week and I'm set to go. I want to tell you that I think you are my personal Jiminy Cricket, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Nazi war criminal, and I am a nun. You like other men, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and filling guinea pigs with helium, 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 born-again strangers, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, I assume, in some other more cheerful reality among the infinite number of alternate universes out there. Take care of yourself and never forget to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.
~ Brother Eggs-over-easy.
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