By the time you read this, I'll be hiding under your bed with a butcher's knife.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but seeing you without makeup made homosexuality suddenly seem very feasible to me.
I know this might seem like a sudden changeto you, seeing as we made all those plans to enter the Guinness Book of World Records by the becoming the first couple ever to watch "The Cure for Insomnia" without falling asleep, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — sorry that I didn't take the chance to get rid of you last month, but I promise I'll make up for it the next time we meet.I just need more sex, and for longer than the 3 minutes and 2 inches you're able to provide... or was it the other way around? Anyway...
I want to tell you that I think you are my repressed feminine side, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are scared of sheep,and I am the main character in a really crappy pulp horror novel about rabid watermelons.You like sucking off the black guy that mows your lawn,big butts, andsewing 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 everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I've poured rohypnol into your cocktail again.
I'd really like us to become people that pretend not to know each other,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before the psychiatrist told me that you're just a figment of my imagination.
Take care of yourself and never forget the restraining order the judge issued against you.