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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Mr. President,
I know this might seem like punch in the jaw to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push you into the sea tied to a large brick, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need a dirty magazine, my right hand and a toilet paper — that's all it takes, really. I want to tell you that I think you are at least somewhat humanoid looking (which is about the only thing you have in common with mainstream humanity), but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are from another dimension, and I am really your split personality, writing letters to itself and pretending to be an actual person. You like flaying lambs, dressing up as yourself during Halloween, and writing love letters to Bob Saget, 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 Rushmore. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I walk past the ape cages at the zoo. I'd really like us to become people that pretend not to know each other, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before I decided to read through your diary last week. Take care of yourself and never forget to write down the number of every donkey cart that hits you.
~ Yet Another Anonymous Sex Partner. |