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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Santa,
I know this might seem like a Wikipedia article to you, seeing as we made all those plans to suck out the souls of those unworthy of a vampiric prowess, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule. I want to tell you that I think you are like a senile old parrot, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are one of Evil Bert's sinister henchmen, and I am vastly more intelligent than that. You like smoking banana peels, stabbing yourself with carrots, and practicing surgery on household pests, 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 each other sometime in the next millennia. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever there are blue whales swimming in my goldfish bowl. 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, way back in the 60's during Woodstock. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm much happier without you.
~ The daemon swineherd in the twilit grotto. |