Dear John letter
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Template:FA/08 December 2006Template:FA/2006Template:FQ/08 December 2006Template:FQ/2006
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Thursday, February 23, 2023
Dear Big Bertha,
By the time you read this, I'll be captured by the FBI. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I have stolen three nuclear warheads and am planning to commit suicide by detonating them (in midtown New York, just to spice things up). I know this might seem like a letter of indulgence to you, seeing as we made all those plans to infiltrate the "Amnesty International" organization and shamelessly purloin their charity funds, but I just don't see things working out that way. I'm sorry about this — it's just a shame I waited so long to do it, and wasted so much of my valuable time. I just need a dirty magazine, my right hand and a toilet paper — that's all it takes, really. I want to tell you that I think you are my personal Jiminy Cricket, 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 addicted to raspberry muffins. You like bungee jumping from church steeples, filling stuffed animals with ice cream, and belly-button sniffing, 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 people without AIDS. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I find another piece of Titanic buried in my backyard. I'd really like us to become that kind of insufferable cinemagoers who've read the plot in advance and sit and yell out spoilers throughout the film to the annoyance of everyone else, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before I decided to read through your diary last week. Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm being entirely serious.
~ Quinn the eskimo. P.S. Give me five million dollars now, or I'll scratch my own eyeballs out. Just kidding, he he he! I bet you fell for that one. D.S. |