By the time you read this, I'll be eating myself to death at a McDonald's restaurant.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 an unexpected departureto you, seeing as we made all those plans to buy a million rubber ducks for all our retirement savings, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations.I just need more time alone. No... More time away from you. All of it, really. Yeah. That's what I mean to say.
I want to tell you that I think you are the true identity of the Zodiac Killer, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Democrat,and I am worried about it.You like sucking off the black guy that mows your lawn,painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, anddissecting frogs with butterknives,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 and wherever. Just joshing you. You suck.
I'd really like us to become an African-American comedy duo,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, during my opiate daydream earlier today, after which I woke up to the cold and harsh reality again.
Take care of yourself and never forget that your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.
Live long and prosper,
~ A million monkeys hitting randomly on typewriters.