Dear John letter

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Sunday, October 26, 2014  

Dear Archchancellor,

By the time you read this, I'll be trampled to death during the New York City Marathon. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but well... no, I'm not sorry. Lying was always my worst problem with you, and I'm sorry. No. No, I'm not.

I know this might seem like an odd twist of fate to you, seeing as we made all those plans to adopt a child from a third world country for media publicity, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need more sex, and for longer than the 3 minutes and 2 inches you're able to provide... or was it the other way around? Anyway...

I want to tell you that I think you are not as strong in the Force as the Emperor thought, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Sagittarius, and I am not the type of person to be running around screaming that I have a "relationship". You like flaying lambs, playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, and watching animal porn, 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 sometime in the next millennia. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever there are blue whales swimming in my goldfish bowl.

I'd really like us to become snobbish self-styled intellectuals who always change the subject to 19th century Russian literature in order to look smart everytime a third person approaches, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before we ended up in Hell together.

Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you masturbate, Friedrich Nietzsche kills God.

Allah Ackbar,

~ That old woman next door.

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