I Am Handling The Apocalypse Much Better Than You
Hey, I know it's been a long time since you and I talked. I mean, you made it pretty clear that our relationship was over, though I still say setting my apartment building on fire was overstating your point a little bit. So many people died... they didn't have to die... I swear to you I returned your Water-Pik and your roommate stole it!
But I guess it doesn't really matter, considering what happened a few months ago. The Apocalypse. Crazy, right? All the bombs and the radiation from the bombs and, because OF COURSE, the radiation-based mutants. Oh, speaking of... you remember Jimmy from down at the video store? He's some kind of rat-thing now. Still working at the video store, but now the video store is a place where the radiation mutants go to purchase human organs to eat. I think Jimmy is the assistant manager, but I'm not sure; I was too busy wildly firing a shotgun into the bloated, gnashing mouth/belly of what was once a traffic cop (I think) to check his name tag.
Anyway... so I guess you're wondering why I'm writing you this letter. And you're probably also wondering why it's written on a parchment of human skin and inked in the blood of the innocent. Well, Beth, here's the deal... since the Apocalypse happened, I've kind of... blossomed, as it were. Come into my own. I saw my moment and I seized it, I guess you could say.
I am now the conquering tyrant of Demilitarized Zone 8H!!! That's right, your old boyfriend is powerful as all get out!!! Surprised? You're thinking to yourself, "Could the same asthmatic man I cruelly dumped for a surfer really now be the ax-wielding warlord that's quite literally carved out a kingdom amidst the horrors of The End Times?"
The answer is YES! To tell you the truth, I'm not even sure how it happened. When the bombs fell, I sorta just freaked out. Started killing a lot of people, collecting weapons, enslaving the weak and building an army... that sort of thing. Before I knew it, I was sitting on a throne made of skulls, watching three severely mutated Taco Bell employees fight each other with homemade broadswords. It's been a hell of a ride, let me tell you.
Which I guess brings me to the point of this letter. One of my minions saw you down in DM Zone 4Q the other day... it said you were shitting in a bucket and crying and that it looked like all your teeth had been knocked out (guess you won't be needing that Water-Pik after all, ha ha). The surfer was nowhere to be found. Hearing all this made me a little sad... we had some great times, after all. But in the end, it just made me realize that I'm over you, Beth. I am strong now. I am my own man.
And clearly I am handling the Apocalypse much better than you. What's the old saying; living well is the greatest revenge of all? I don't know about that... ripping out the spines of those who've wronged you is surprisingly satisfying. But what the hey... just this once, we'll give the old saying it's due. I'm living well at the end of the world, Beth. Take THAT!!!
-He Who Rules With the Blade and the Fear (you can still call me "Trevor" if you want)
P.S. Please don't say anything to my flock about me not being sure how the whole warlord thing happened. As far as they're concerned, I was sent here as an avenging demon from Hell to wreck our master Satan's bloody vengeance on Earth so he can claim enough souls to rise up and rule with me at his right hand. Trying to keep that story going as long as I can, so be cool, okay? Thanks!