Dear John letter

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Saturday, February 6, 2016  

Dear Mr. President,

By the time you read this, I'll be burnt at stake by the Spanish Inquisition. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like the world isn't going to end on December 21, 2012 anyway.

I know this might seem like , complicated, bewildering, and kind of erotic to you, seeing as we made all those plans to kill your parents and claim the life insurance money, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little... I just need to finish that annoying Zork game on that Uncyclopedia website I told you about yesterday (it's driving me crazy, it's like no matter what you do, you'll ALWAYS end up being eaten by a grue!).

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 a balloon animal fan, and I am on drugs. You like flaying lambs, pushing unsuspecting tourists off from very high places and watch them fall, and smelling your fingers, 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 each other's pets. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need a good laugh.

I'd really like us to become slowly solidified into a kind of buttery jell, 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.

Respect to the man in the ice cream van,

~ The collective members of your band.

P.S. You are the one billionth person to read this letter. Click here to receive your prize! D.S.

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