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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Mr. President,
I know this might seem like a total violation of the laws of physics to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need to put this facade you've been living to an end, before I run out of script material. Ghostwriters cost a fortune. I want to tell you that I think you are composed mainly of various carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen, phosphorus, iron, copper, magnesium, sulfur, calcium, potassium, iodine, sodium and silicon compounds (well, duh...), but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the demi-duchess of Kumswalla, and I am vastly less intelligent than that. You like flicking staples at livestock, contemplating suicide (but always being so damned indecisive), and filling guinea pigs with helium, 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 other people. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I make additions to my personal list of people I intend to kill. I'd really like us to become slowly solidified into a kind of buttery jell, 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 to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.
~ Cato the Elder.
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