Billy Ray Cyber,
It hardly seems like 13 years have passed since I killed you through neglect. Time flies when you’re alive, I guess. I hope you’ll understand, as I apologize for the first time, that I wasn’t trying to kill you. I wasn’t even trying to NOT kill you, just so I could see what would happen when you died – if you did a special “death dance” like Steve said you would or if you would turn into a ghost and haunt the mall arcade where I usually abandoned you.
Here’s the thing, Billy Ray Cyber. You were the neediest fucking Tamagotchi I had ever met. My other friends’ Tamagotchis only required the smallest daily ration of food and the occasional snack. YOU, on the other hand, were like pre-pants Jared. My household hardly had enough food for its human inhabitants, but you didn’t give a shit, did you? As long as you were eating 26 times an hour, the rest of us could starve.
Of course, after you ate, you took huge dumps that filled the entire screen. By the time I finished cleaning up your mess, you were ready to eat again. You’re lucky Terry Schiavo wasn’t relevant in 1996, because that would have been your motherfuckin’ Christian name.
Oh, and you l-o-o-o-o-o-o-ved to play, didn’t you? Loved to learn new tricks. Except you never ACTUALLY LEARNED THEM, DID YOU?!? You just sat there, with your stupid head cocked sideways, looking at me like it was my fault your Tamagotchi brain had zero capacity for knowledge.
For the record, the reason I kept turning the lights on and off was because I wanted you to go to sleep. I didn’t know that Tamagotchis came with diseases like epilepsy. At least you died in a sort of dance party atmosphere.