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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Saturday, November 14, 2026
Dear hooker I slept with in Vegas,
I know this might seem like an unexpected departure 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 more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age. I want to tell you that I think you are perfectly looking, at least according to Neptunian standards, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are possessed by Pazuzu, and I am a grue and will certainly eat you the next time we meet. You like attacking clergymen, pretending to be Captain America, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans, 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 only if we're re-incarnated into each other's bodies and I get to be "you" next time. Oh yes. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever and wherever. Just joshing you. You suck. I'd really like us to become theatrical actors in a Romeo & Juliet play, except we'll kill ourselves for real in the end just for the sake of realism, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before the psychatrist told me that you're just a figment of my imagination. Take care of yourself and never forget to have your pets sprayed and neutered.
~ Sailor Moon.
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