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 Featured Article (read another featured article)
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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Freak of the Week,
I know this might seem like punch in the jaw to you, seeing as we made all those plans to cannibalize your family, 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 nails, matches and a voodoo doll of you. I want to tell you that I think you are ...more than passable, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a good-for-nothing crack whore, and I am a Mousketeer. You like trying to fit inside sewer drains, juggling chainsaws, and you cannot lie, the other brothers can't deny, when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung, 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 again, but in another life — preferably a previous one. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever do sadistic things to your digital duplicate in The Sims 3. 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, way back in the 60's during Woodstock. Take care of yourself and never forget that you've only got one bullet left, it's going to take more than that to stop me.
~ Mom.
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