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 Featured Article (read another featured article)
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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear John Bull,
I know this might seem like an Uncyclopedia in-joke to you, seeing as we made all those plans to continue grossing out teens and old people with our cherished "skinny dip and snogging" expeditions to the fountain in the public square, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high. I just need more cowbell. 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 the flesh and blood scion of the Devil himself, and I am pregnant. You like guessing the weight of elderly women, dressing up as yourself during Halloween, and feeding rice to sea gulls, 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 Mount Everest. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "obesity", "fat" and/or "pig" in my presence. I'd really like us to become nihilistic Al-Qaeda terrorists and blow up everything that moves, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least before we met. Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you masturbate, Friedrich Nietzsche kills God.
~ [Insert name of author here].
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