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Thursday, February 12, 2026
Dear
By the time you read this, I'll be staring at the sun with the intent of becoming blind. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but attorneys cost money, and I'm eating for two now, if you know what I mean. I know this might seem like a cowardly way of telling you that I ran over your mom with fatal outcome just 10 minutes ago to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push you into the sea tied to a large brick, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — but I've been stuck in this nightmare world for months now, and writing this letter is my last chance of a wake up call. I just need more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age. I want to tell you that I think you are on my long list of middle-rated and easily forgotten ex's, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Democrat, and I am suicidal. You like flaying lambs, peeling watermelons, and smelling your fingers, and I'm just not sure I can ever share your joy in those things. How can two people so different ever make it for the long haul? I think we should date on different continents. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I run around screaming and foaming in my padded cell. I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, while we were three thousand miles away from each other. Take care of yourself and never forget to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.
~ Concerned Citizen. P.S. Give me five million dollars now, or I'll scratch my own eyeballs out. Just kidding, he he he! I bet you fell for that one. D.S. |