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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Tuesday, February 10, 2026
Dear Mario,
I know this might seem like an odd twist of fate to you, seeing as we made all those plans to assassinate the Pope, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need nails, matches and a voodoo doll of you. I want to tell you that I think you are dumb as a rock, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are committed, literally, and I am pregnant. You like trying to fit inside sewer drains, filling stuffed animals with ice cream, and genitally piercing unsuspecting strangers in unemployment line queues, 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 someone asks me why I'm such a cold, heartless, cat-owning woman (sniff). I'd really like us to become ultranerds who always writes in leet speech and uses Internet abbreviations such as LOL, ITA, IIRC, YMMV and IMHO in common speech, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, unless I was just dreaming. Take care of yourself and never forget that despite all the nonsense I've written in this letter, I'm still going to track you down and kill you.
~ (Jenny is being disconnected, so don't try calling).
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