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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Acquaintance,
I know this might seem like a sinister scheme from me to stage an "accident" and claim the life insurance policy on you (which it is) to you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit Easter Island and go on an egg hunt, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. I just need need need need need... well; I can't quite remember. I want to tell you that I think you are in need of some serious physical therapy against your hideous acid breath, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the latest addition to my evergrowing list of people I'm planning to kill, and I am not. You like caressing lamp accessories, putting things on springs, 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 when Hell freezes over. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone jokingly claims that there's a monster standing behind me. I'd really like us to become acquaintances, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, my left hand and I. Take care of yourself and never forget to have your pets sprayed and neutered.
~ Grand Admiral of Switzerland. |