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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear me, I do believe I've forgotten your name,
I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts to you, seeing as we made all those plans to suck out the souls of those unworthy of a vampiric prowess, 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 kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly. I want to tell you that I think you are Jimbo, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are possessed by Pazuzu, and I am scared of donuts. You like sucking off the black guy that mows your lawn, huffing kittens, 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 just as long as you are willing to spend half your life hanging by your pinkie toes, for that's the type of torture I have planned for you.. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever a six-legged rhinoceros flies by. I'd really like us to become partners in crime and rob helpless old ladies of their retirement savings, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before I decided to read through your diary last week. Take care of yourself and never forget that you are now statistically 50% less likely to ever find a lasting and fulfilling relationship during your lifetime.
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