By the time you read this, I'll be in Purgatory, having much more fun than you.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but to be honest, I'd be more sorry if I were to stay.
I know this might seem like an unexpected departureto you, seeing as we made all those plans to assassinate the Pope, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — but another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour.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 at least somewhat humanoid looking (which is about the only thing you have in common with mainstream humanity), but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the disembodied head of Patrick Duffy,and I am Republican.You like groping fresh produce,lassoing people on subways cars, andrecommending suicide as the only viable cure for hiccups,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 people.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I desperately try another time traveling session to prevent the sad chain of events that led me to meet you in the first place.
I'd really like us to become a Heathcliff and Catherine-like ghost couple and creep out softhearted onlookers in our restless afterlife,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before the psychatrist told me that you're just a figment of my imagination.
Take care of yourself and never forget the hard work of the ten million chained up monkeys with typewriters that wrote this letter.