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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 kick in the nuts 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 — but if the writing's a but shakey that's only because of my helpless, loud and hysterical laughter. 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 ...good at Scrabble, if slightly obsessed with it, 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 allergic to air. You like beating yourself up in front of a mirror, scratching yourself publicly, and smelling your fingers, 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 each other's pets. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me to define the word "pointless". I'd really like us to become Siamese twins (we might have to undergo an extensive surgery for that though), 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 I have the Infinity Gauntlet and is thus the supreme being of this universe.
~ A million monkeys hitting randomly on typewriters.
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