By the time you read this, I'll be omnipotent, omniscient and omnipresent.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I have stolen three nuclear warheads and am planning to commit suicide by detonating them (in midtown New York, just to spice things up).
I know this might seem like a sudden turn of eventsto you, seeing as we made all those plans to continue grossing out teens and old people with our cherished "skinny dip and snogging" expeditions to the fountain in the public square, 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 more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age.
I want to tell you that I think you are ...good at Scrabble, if slightly obsessed with it, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Democrat,and I am not the type of person to be running around screaming that I have a "relationship".You like flaying lambs,stabbing yourself with carrots, anddisturbing annual sci-fi conventions with whistles and cymbals,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 in Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I've poured rohypnol into your cocktail again.
I'd really like us to become engaged in a brutal medieval fight to the death with the good ole' armour, horse and lances (but only if I get to win),if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before I decided to read through your diary last week.