Dear John letter

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Hand pencil
Sunday, September 24, 2017  

Dear Captain Blackbeard,

By the time you read this, I'll be in your room, stealing your socks. 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 disappointing turn for the worse to you, seeing as we made all those plans to grow old, fat and senile together, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. I just need to kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly.

I want to tell you that I think you are really quite adequate, 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 really your split personality, writing letters to itself and pretending to be an actual person. You like attacking clergymen, tripping on your own shoelaces on purpose just so you can blame the jews for it, and sewing 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 other species. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm having another period of severe psychotic breakdown.

I'd really like us to become born-again strangers, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, up until the effect of the morphine wore off.

Take care of yourself and never forget that time when I showed everyone a picture of your penis. That was funny.

Pa Pa,

~ The collective members of your band.

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