By the time you read this, I'll be tied to a score of helium balloons, thinking about some non-fatal way of coming back down to earth safely (help, please?).I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but you weren't at home, and anyways I forgot to bring my AK with me.
I know this might seem like a kick in the nutsto you, seeing as we made all those plans to kidnap a first-grade school class together, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high.I just need need need needneed... well; I can't quite remember.
I want to tell you that I think you are a..well...um...okay, nice...yeah...maybe, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pedophile,and I am your father.You like beating yourself up in front of a mirror,insult sword fighting, andreleasing frogs into preschool kitchens,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 my girlfriends and I are trading stories on our worst sexual experiences.
I'd really like us to become a Heathcliff and Catherine-like ghost couple and creep out softhearted onlookers in our restless afterlife,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, up until the effect of the morphine wore off.
Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you wish for coal as a Christmas present, you'll get porridge instead.
~ Your very dissatisfied penis.
P.S. It was me who raped your little sister last summer. I hope you'll one day forgive me. D.S.