An Open Letter to my Stalker
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Dear Stalker,
It’s been three days since you started to call me up. I know it must be cute for you to call me up three times in a row when I’m working and twice when I’m in the shower. And you probably think it’s cute to just shut up and giggle like a schoolgirl when I ask who the hell are you. But that time you called me up at 3:30 am when I was dead tired was too much.
Problem is, I don’t think we’ll work out. I don’t know who you are, what you do, what you look like, or even if you really are a girl. I don’t know anything about you, except your number that makes me groan in agony when I see it flashing on my cellphone screen. You could at least text me and say “Can we be TEXMET?” so I could text you back a big fat no. But no, you keep calling me, keep annoying me, and keep on giggling like a schoolgirl on crack.
I’m sorry, we can’t be together. We are just too different. I don’t waste my time calling up people at random and subsequently stalking them. I waste my time stalking people at random over the blogosphere. Yes, I also giggle like a schoolgirl when I stalk people, but that’s different.
Besides, I. Have. A. Girlfriend. I am NOT interested in somebody else. It is a law of nature that committed guys are genetically unable to have crushes on another girl (Especially Jessica Alba), so I cannot, by any law of nature, like you.
So I hope you understand, and please stop calling me. If you want somebody to stalk, I can give you the number of my good friend Roel who has been complaining of a dry spell these last three months.
Sincerely,
Ade
P.S. Go to hell.
