Dear John letter

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Wednesday, July 1, 2015  

Dear Mystery Man,

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 departure to 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, and recommending 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.

go eat shit fuckers,

~ You, before you became amnesiac.

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