Dear yesterday's news,
By the time you read this, I'll be having future visions of myself in April 29, 2010.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your voice is so grating that another few phone calls from you would have left me deaf for life by the end of the year.
I know this might seem like a cowardly way of telling you that I ran over your mom with fatal outcome just 10 minutes ago
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 to go to the moon or a gay retared place.
I want to tell you that I think you are in need of some serious physical therapy against your hideous acid breath, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an atheist,
and I am your father.
You like playing Worms 3D, peeling watermelons, 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 in Hell, after killing each other.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I want to, which isn't often.
I'd really like us to become bitter enemies, constantly plotting each other's downfall until one of us (preferably me) succeeds, giving that person (again, preferably me) the opportunity to engage in stereotypical maniacal laughter,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, I think.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you buried the body, and won't hesitate to contact police should the need arise.
Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul,
~ Everyone else.
P.S. Do you remember that VHS tape I showed you yesterday, the one with a towel-headed man and a well? If so, you now have six days left to live. Life's a bitch, ain't she? D.S.
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