Dear John letter

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Sunday, September 15, 2019  

Dear Archchancellor,

By the time you read this, I'll be counting to one googolplex (and I'm only at 54444 at the moment). I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but you weren't at home, and anyways I forgot to bring my AK with me.

I know this might seem like karmic kannibalism to you, seeing as we made all those plans to kill any infidel swine who refuses to submit to the ways of the Holy Qur'an and our great prophet Muhammad (peace by upon him), but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain intoxicated. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly.

I want to tell you that I think you are the Mr. Hyde to my Doctor Jekyll, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the only one in the world who actually thinks Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer are funny, and I am scared of donuts. You like toying with mousetraps, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and nibbling off wires to public computers at libraries and Internet cafés, 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 only if we're re-incarnated into each other's bodies and I get to be "you" next time. Oh yes. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "anorexia", "bulimia" and/or "starvation" in my presence.

I'd really like us to become partners in crime and steal candy from helpless little kids, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, my left hand and I.

Take care of yourself and never forget to brush your teeth. Oh wait; you don't have any, you toothless old fuck.

Fuck off,

~ Your new ex.

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