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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear other half,
I know this might seem like karmic kannibalism to you, seeing as we made all those plans to continue grossing out teens and old people with our cherished "skinny dip and snogging" expeditions to the fountain in the public square, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but if the writing's a but shakey that's only because of my helpless, loud and hysterical laughter. 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 ...alive and breathing, 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 member of a religion that has repeatedly confirmed that people like that are going to burn in hell. You like stamp collecting, carving CD's into lethal shurikens with which to... kill people, and smelling other people's fingers, 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 our own mirror images. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I smell that characteristic composite stench of rotten eggs, garlic and blue cheese again. I'd really like us to become nihilistic Al-Qaeda terrorists and blow up everything that moves, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, assuming that "good times" is just another way of saying "total suckage". Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you masturbate, Friedrich Nietzsche kills God.
~ George Philipp Telemann. |