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 Featured Article (read another featured article)
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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Mickey Finn,
I know this might seem like an Uncyclopedia in-joke to you, seeing as we made all those plans to trade all our remaining STDs even-steven, 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 ...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 the only one in the world who actually thinks Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer are funny, and I am a serial killer convicted for the deaths of 30 people. You like laying on the floor with all the lights off, insult sword fighting, 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 virtualized Sim replicas of each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever Saturn orbits Pluto. I'd really like us to become engaged in a brutal medieval fight to the death with the good ole' armour, horse and lances (but only if I get to win), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, nah; I'm just screwing with you. Take care of yourself and never forget all the people we've killed together.
~ Hannibal Lecter.
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