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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear Person To Whom It May Concern,
I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts to you, seeing as we made all those plans to buy a million rubber ducks for all our retirement savings, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually. I want to tell you that I think you are my personal Jiminy Cricket, 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 not you. You like navel lint collecting, playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, and disturbing annual sci-fi conventions with whistles and cymbals, 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 other species. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I find another piece of Titanic buried in my backyard. I'd really like us to become snobbish self-styled intellectuals who always change the subject to 19th century Russian literature in order to look smart everytime a third person approaches, 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 all the people we've killed together.
~ DJ Pie Saftey. |