Dear Mr. President,
By the time you read this, I'll be serving number 977. If you get here quickly enough, you might be able to get in to see me before I wash the stink of manfilth from my body and go home for the night.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your voice is so grating that another few phone calls from you would have left me deaf for life by the end of the year.
I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to burn down our neighbor's house, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — it's just a shame I waited so long to do it, and wasted so much of my valuable time. I just need a dirty magazine, my right hand and a toilet paper — that's all it takes, really.
I want to tell you that I think you are the creep who's making all those nightly phone calls where only heavy breathing is heard, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Nazi war criminal,
and I am a nun.
You like trying to fit inside sewer drains, playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, and sewing extra limbs onto your body,
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 each other's pets.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I sharpen my hunting knife out in the garage.
I'd really like us to become snobbish self-styled intellectuals who always change the subject to 19th century Russian literature in order to look smart everytime a third person approaches,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, way back in the 60's during Woodstock.
Take care of yourself and never forget that each day of your life may be the last as long as I'm around.
Ceterum censeo Carthaginem esse delendam,
~ Your favorite drugdealer.
P.S. That was an Amanita virosa (destroying angel) you ate yesterday, not a button mushroom as I thought. Oops, I guess I'm really bad with mushrooms... D.S.