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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Captain Blackbeard,
I know this might seem like a big sick demented joke in a vortex of meaninglessness to you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly cannibalize each other one bite at a time, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but as a bisexual, I'm interested in only two kinds of people — and quite frankly, you don't fit into either category. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule. I want to tell you that I think you are a..well...um...okay, nice...yeah...maybe, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are wanted in nineteen states, and I am Republican. You like wearing my knickers on your noggin, masturbating to gardening shows, and recommending suicide as the only viable cure for hiccups, 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 I finally track you down and kill you. I'd really like us to become friends, but I think that won't happen. I rather not speak to you again, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before you decided to become yourself and get to be so much of a stuck-up prig. Take care of yourself and never forget that despite all the nonsense I've written in this letter, I'm still going to track you down and kill you.
~ Norman Bates. |