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Dear Miss Chernobyl,
By the time you read this, I'll be in Iraq, serving in whatever ways I’m needed most. I fear that the military is the only way to make our relationship last, and seeing as you're a pacifist, I decided to join. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I don't think I could restrain myself from laughing about what I saw last night. I know this might seem like a slap in the face to you, seeing as we made all those plans to terrorize the elderly couple that lives down the road, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high. I just need a bit of a laugh. I want to tell you that I think you are at least somewhat humanoid looking (which is about the only thing you have in common with mainstream humanity), but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pederast, and I am the one who slipped rohypnol into your Bloody Mary last month. You like guessing the weight of elderly women, bobbing for old tires in the East River, and releasing frogs into preschool kitchens, 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 just as long as you are willing to spend half your life hanging by your pinkie toes, for that's the type of torture I have planned for you.. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I want to, which isn't often. I'd really like us to become people that ignore each other in public, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, well, no... but no-one else has to know that. Take care of yourself and never forget that you are now statistically 50% less likely to ever find a lasting and fulfilling relationship during your lifetime.
~ Your new ex. P.S. Remember to drink the nut-flavored tea I poured you today. D.S. |