Dear John letter

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Wednesday, January 28, 2015  

Dear wife nr. 11,

By the time you read this, I'll be transferring the last of our mutual savings to a bank account in Geneva. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I don't think I could restrain myself from laughing about what I saw last night.

I know this might seem like , complicated, bewildering, and kind of erotic to you, seeing as we made all those plans to enter the Guinness Book of World Records by the becoming the first couple ever to watch "The Cure for Insomnia" without falling asleep, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but if the writing's a but shakey that's only because of my helpless, loud and hysterical laughter. 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 Terminator sent from the future to kill me, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a balloon animal fan, and I am a serial killer convicted for the deaths of 31 people. You like flaying lambs, talking like Captain Kirk, and gas tungsten arc welding, 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 our respective parents, if only so we can feel unfaithful again. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm solving a crossword and have to come up with a synonym for the word "stupid".

I'd really like us to become people that ignore each other in public, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, up until the effect of the morphine wore off.

Take care of yourself and never forget that Soylent Green tastes like spinach.

Toodles,

~ The Pope.

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