 |
  |
 Featured Article (read another featured article)
|
Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
| This article has been featured on the main page. — You can vote for or nominate your favourite articles at Uncyclopedia:VFH. | |
 |
Dear wife nr. 13,
I know this might seem like a letter of indulgence to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push the boundaries of human genetics past the point of good taste by procreating, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but honestly, putting my hamster in the microwave was too much. I just need more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age. I want to tell you that I think you are the unidentified person I ran over with my truck at 10:40 P.M. yesterday, 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 enigmatic. You like harassing sleeping rottweilers, scratching yourself publicly, and sewing extra limbs onto your body, 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 again someday, but only if you go in for surgery and get you brain replaced. And your nose. Or to keep it simple, ask them to change everything but your name. Or have them change that as well, unless doing so would complicate billing. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I practice knife stabbing on mannequin dolls. 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, which lasted until you unexpectedly woke up from your coma. Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you wish for coal as a Christmas present, you'll get porridge instead.
~ That old woman next door. |