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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear psychiatrist,
I know this might seem like a sudden change 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 — sorry that I didn't take the chance to get rid of you last month, but I promise I'll make up for it the next time we meet. I just need to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale. It can not be corrected but I have no other way to fulfill my needs. I want to tell you that I think you are ...good at Scrabble, if slightly obsessed with it, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a balloon animal fan, and I am fucked up for life after 15 years of heavy heroin abuse. You like using magnifying glasses to kill aunts, harassing sheep until they explode, and making faces at babies until they cry, 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 virtualized Sim replicas of each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me to define the word "pointless". I'd really like us to become supervillains and plot to conquer the world together (after which I will kill you as there can only be one true Master), 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 it's going to take more than a restraining order to keep me away from our children — they are mine too and I will not be denied them.
~ Tiddles. |