Dear Anna, Jessica ... Sarah? ummmm whoever ...,
By the time you read this, I'll be flat on my back, testing the Serta® 10 Year Mattress Spring Guarantee with our mutual friend Gary.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I'm not getting any younger, and you're not getting any richer.
I know this might seem like a bit of a shock
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly fade into non-existence, 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 length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age.
I want to tell you that I think you are ...unusually odorous, in a good way... sometimes, 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 fucked up for life after 15 years of heavy heroin abuse.
You like imitating 50s actors while shoe shopping, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and practicing surgery on household pests,
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've consumed rohypnol and Vodka.
I'd really like us to become Siamese twins (we might have to undergo an extensive surgery for that though),
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas.
Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you see a rainbow, someone is having gay sex.
Ceterum censeo Carthaginem esse delendam,
~ Alan Smithee.
P.S. You are the one billionth person to read this letter. Click here to receive your prize! D.S.
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