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Dear Loser,
By the time you read this, I'll be chasing your helpless grandma around with a huge fucking monster truck. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but my sadistic urges have become completely uncontrollable, and I don’t think I can see you again without having to torture you. I know this might seem like a very large malignant tumour on your L4 vertebrae (and to be truthful, it is) to 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 — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually. I want to tell you that I think you are the worst Tetris player ever, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a balloon animal fan, and I am not you. You like playing Worms 3D, playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans, 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 again, but in another life — preferably a previous one. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I completely run out of other, far more important things to think about. I'd really like us to become people that pretend they never dated, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before the police accidentally found the body hidden in your closet. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm being entirely serious.
~ (Jenny is being disconnected, so don't try calling). |