By the time you read this, I'll be doing my "happy dance" naked, on the side of the M25 motorway.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but no, I am not going to stop sending these letters just because the judge and my psychiatrist told me not to.
I know this might seem like a letter of indulgenceto you, seeing as we made all those plans to infiltrate the "Red Cross" organization and shamelessly purloin their charity funds, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations.I just need to go to the moon or a gay retared place.
I want to tell you that I think you are so incredibly full of shit that it's a miracle that you haven't exploded into a cascading rivulet of foul smelling excrements yet, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an atheist,and I am into bodysurfing.You like smoking banana peels,stabbing yourself with carrots, andfinding out a random victim's e-mail address and subscribe it to every advertisement letter you can find,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 people without AIDS.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm solving a crossword and have to come up with a synonym for the word "stupid".
I'd really like us to become supervillains and plot to conquer the world together (after which I will kill you as there can only be one true Master),if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.We had some good times, nah; I'm just screwing with you.
Take care of yourself and never forget to eat your vegetables.