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Featured version: 8 December 2006 |
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Dear lovely giraffe of a step-daughter with whom I have had pleasant Banana Peeling.,
I know this might seem like an omitted chapter from Dante´s Divine Comedy to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, 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 nails, matches and a voodoo doll of you. I want to tell you that I think you are a mammal, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a satanist, and I am angry. You like smoking banana peels, pretending to be Captain America, and biking against red light at rush hour, 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 everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever a six-legged rhinoceros flies by. I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not, 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.
~ That old woman next door.
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