Dear John letter

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Thursday, February 23, 2017  

Dear Captain Blackbeard,

By the time you read this, I'll be devolved into an amorphous amoeba. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with all the botox in your face, I might as well be fraternizing with mannequins instead. At least those don't have every STD known to man...

I know this might seem like a sinister scheme from me to stage an "accident" and claim the life insurance policy on you (which it is) to you, seeing as we made all those plans to live together in happily unwedded bliss, or a reasonable facsimile, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but honestly, putting my hamster in the microwave was too much. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly.

I want to tell you that I think you are perfectly looking, at least according to Neptunian standards, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nobody, and I am a Mousketeer. You like flaying lambs, masturbating to gardening shows, and making faces at babies until they cry, 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 do sadistic things to your digital duplicate in The Sims 3.

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, while we were three thousand miles away from each other.

Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you wish for coal as a Christmas present, you'll get porridge instead.

Toodles,

~ Your intestinal parasite.

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