Dear psychiatrist,
By the time you read this, I'll be watching The Uncyclopedia Movie.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like I'm not going to kill you on Saturday anyway.
I know this might seem like a very large malignant tumour on your L4 vertebrae (and to be truthful, it is)
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to destroy the universe, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — it's just a shame I waited so long to do it, and wasted so much of my valuable time. 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 a real pain in the ass, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nothing,
and I am allergic to air.
You like traveling to other cities and show up uninvited at total strangers birthday parties, masturbating to gardening shows, and you cannot lie, the other brothers can't deny, when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung,
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 just as long as you are willing to spend half your life hanging by your pinkie toes, for that's the type of torture I have planned for you..
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I sharpen my hunting knife out in the garage.
I'd really like us to become slowly solidified into a kind of buttery jell,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, pretending we're screwing someone else.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I still have your diary and can at any time mail the most embarrassing parts (like the chapter about the summer of -04) of it to The New York Times.
Respect to the man in the ice cream van,
~ Conomor the Cursed.
P.S. I have two tickets to Bunnyland and was wondering if you'd like to come with me? You know, just in memory of the good 'ol days? D.S.
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