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Dear John letter

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Thursday, March 28, 2024  

Dear Big Bertha,


By the time you read this, I'll be buying the farm. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your feelings are inherently less valuable than mine.

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 sink the British isles, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but honestly, putting my hamster in the microwave was too much. I just need to go to the moon or a gay retared place.

I want to tell you that I think you are exceptionally undistinguished, in a boring, non-threatening way, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pederast, and I am all that and more. You like flicking staples at livestock, tripping on your own shoelaces on purpose just so you can blame the Jews for it, and you cannot lie, the other brothers can't deny, when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung, 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 — oh wait, I meant to write "hate" of course. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me if I've ever picked up a hitchhiker I really regret picking up.

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, my left hand and I.

Take care of yourself and never forget that pushing Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Start on your keyboard may be fatal to your health.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,

~ Grand Admiral of Switzerland.

P.S. Can I borrow 5 bucks? D.S.

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