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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Rocky Balboa,
I know this might seem like an episode of Days of Our Lives to you, seeing as we made all those plans to destroy the universe, 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 more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually. I want to tell you that I think you are ...unusually odorous, in a good way... sometimes, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are under surveillance by the CIA, and I am not. You like bungee jumping from church steeples, tripping on your own shoelaces on purpose just so you can blame the jews for it, 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 in Heaven. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me to define the word "ugliness". I'd really like us to become theatrical actors in a Romeo & Juliet play, except we'll kill ourselves for real in the end just for the sake of realism, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, five past seven on Sunday November 3rd 2003 springs to mind, for instance. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm much happier without you.
~ God.
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