Dear Brian, Derek ... Frank? ummmm whoever ...,
By the time you read this, I'll be devolved into an amorphous amoeba.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with your breath, a letter seemed the safest option.
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 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 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 to kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly.
I want to tell you that I think you are a fucking ugly bitch, and I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are not even real, just a Sim character I created last week in The Sims 3,
and I am angry.
You like bathing in gasoline, gay midgets, and feeding rice to sea gulls,
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 for the hell of it. It's not like we don't both have herpes.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I've consumed rohypnol and Vodka.
I'd really like us to become old without ever speaking to, or thinking of, each other ever again,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I have your son and will kill him unless you transfer five million dollars to my bank account by next Thursday.
Bye,
~ Everyone else.
P.S. You forgot your dildo at my place when you visited me last Sunday. D.S.