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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Friday, February 13, 2026
Dear Captain Blackbeard,
I know this might seem like a slap in the face to you, seeing as we made all those plans to buy a million rubber ducks for all our retirement savings, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need to enter "4 8 15 16 23 42" into my command prompt every 108th minute. I want to tell you that I think you are strangely charismatic, considering your freakishly odd appearance, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an atheist, and I am that lonely obsessed stalker who refused to just settle for your autograph. You like bathing in gasoline, dating circus midgets, and smelling other people's 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 on other planets. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever it is that I need to confess my most heinous sins on my deathbed. I'd really like us to become road sweepers or something, 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 I know where you live, your name and what you look like, so beware.
~ Your intestinal parasite. |