An Open Letter from Your Dying Neopet
Oh, hey there! Remember me? The name JubbaTheHut14 ringing any bells?
You know, the little yellow guy you forced to climb the same damn Ice Caves 579 times. No? It’s still not clicking, huh?
Remember when you had no friends and logged into Neopets for the first time? You found the cutest little JubJub and adopted him and named him and promised to be his best friend for life. You played games together and went on adventures. It was awesome! But then something changed. You started gambling all of his money and feeding him nothing but omelets. You stopped taking care of him and only played with him once a week. Remembering now? Good.
Well then do you remember what happened after that? You know, after you discovered masturbation? Let me remind you: I WAS DYING. You even checked in a couple times, noticed I was dying, and fed me ANOTHER FUCKING OMELET. Then I was just starving again, so you thought, “Yeah, this is fine. Back to puberty!” Well guess what? I’M STILL DYING. You may have cleared your memory of me, but now I’m in a perpetual state of dying from which I will never gain reprieve.
I know what you’re thinking right now. You’re sitting there with your “real” friends reading this and believing, “Surely my Neopet can’t still exist? There must be some person in the world watching these accounts who noticed I’ve let the poor little bastard remain unfed and diseased for years now and will finally let release him.” Here’s a little knock-knock joke that can explain that conundrum: “Knock-Knock!” “Who’s there?” “NOT THAT GUY BECAUSE HE’S DOESN’T EXIST!!!” If you don’t do something, I will literally sit here dying for the rest of eternity. My life is like that scene in Saving Private Ryan where the medic is bleeding out and everyone is trying to tell him it’s going to be okay but he knows he’s doomed EXCEPT I DON’T GET TO DIE. There isn’t morphine or a vision of my mother or even the sweet embrace of death. No, I just have a bunch of healthy Neopets telling me it’s going to be okay as I shiver and vomit, constantly teetering on the brink of death but never allowed to fall.
You need to fix this. If there was an assisted suicide doctor in Neopia, I would’ve taken care of this a long time ago – but there isn’t (APPARENTLY, Colombia is more progressive than a society of hyper-intelligent lab creations that have already colonized the moon). I’m not asking you to permanently return to Neopets and starting taking care of me again. I’m better than you. I don’t need to be held at the mercy of someone who wakes up, does who-even-gives-a-shit, eats sauce-covered excrement at Buffalo Wild Wings, and then plays Trivia Crack for four hours. You offering to take care of me would be like Mitch McConnell coming up to President Obama after his term ends and asking him to be his best friend – insulting.
No, I need you to do one thing: Let. Me. Die. It’s honestly not that hard. First, find your old email, firstname.lastname@example.org or email@example.com or whatever horrible creation you invented. Then email firstname.lastname@example.org. That’s it. That is all you’ve had to for the past TEN GODDAMN YEARS YOU DEVIL CREATURE HOW DARE YOU. LET ME BE FREE.
Once you let me go once and for all, it will all be settled. I will be free to live in Neopets Heaven, and you’ll be free to spend your days contemplating whether the Taco Bell breakfast menu will fix your hangover.