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| To M from Bill |
|M., my beloved, |
According to my Windows taskbar, the clock reads 1:39. (EDIT: 1:47) It is approximately two hours and fifty-one minutes (EDIT: three hours and forty-three minutes) until our rendezvous, and my heart longs for you. I have also emailed a bitmap file that I composed in Microsoft Paint of my heart standing on a windswept plain. It is quite poetic.
My despair loops back upon itself, with only your approval as the conditional branch freeing me from infinite iterations. Do you love me? It is a binary question, with only two responses. Your response, "I'm thinking," is not a data that fits within my constraints. Please reformulate your reply; I can not accept it.
I would like to describe exactly what I would like to do to you tonight. After dinner at La Marascole in Seattle (I have taken the liberty of ordering you the prawns marascole; I know you said you were allergic to shellfish, but a prawn is a crustacean, and thus you should have no difficulty.) In addition, you will be having a Caesar salad with vinaigrette dressing. I dislike Caesar dressing. Finally, you and I will enjoy a chocolate milkshake for dessert from Wendy's.
You remember when I commissioned the Wachowski Brothers to rework the ending of Matrix Revolutions to indicate that the movie takes place inside of a Windows environment, and that Neo is actually part of Windows Update? They're done! This is going to be so cool! I've got the theatre all set up.
After that, baby, I'm going to get smooth with you. Then I'm going to sex you up something. Do you like the dirty talk? Steve B. says it really gets him all sweaty too. Then I'm going to...
|Posted on Monday, 04 April 2005 (12:07:30) UTC by gfs |
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