By the time you read this, I'll be hitchhiking to Wal-Mart to choose your replacement.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but seeing you without makeup made homosexuality suddenly seem very feasible to me.
I know this might seem like a Wikipedia articleto 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 — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little...I just need to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale. It can not be corrected but I have no other way to fulfill my needs.
I want to tell you that I think you are a..well...um...okay, nice...yeah...maybe, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a furry,and I am addicted to raspberry muffins.You like playing Worms 3D,dating circus midgets, andsmelling other people's fingers,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 everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I assassinate an infidel.
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, well, no... but no-one else has to know that.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm no longer in a coma.