Dear John letter

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Saturday, March 28, 2015  

Dear [insert name of recipient here],

By the time you read this, I'll be vandalizing Wikipedia. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I finally got around to reading your "poems" this morning, and I figure that this is better than a bullet in the head.

I know this might seem like , well... inevitable, really, 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 — I think. I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually.

I want to tell you that I think you are a fucking ugly bitch, and I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pedophile, and I am into streaking. You like laying on the floor with all the lights off, scratching yourself publicly, and releasing frogs into preschool kitchens, 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 again someday, but only if you go in for surgery and get you brain replaced. And your nose. Or to keep it simple, ask them to change everything but your name. Or have them change that as well, unless doing so would complicate billing. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need another scullery maid.

I'd really like us to become nihilistic Al-Qaeda terrorists and blow up everything that moves, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least during those many hours of drug and alcohol induced unconsciousness.

Take care of yourself and never forget to have your pets sprayed and neutered.

Good luck with your castrated penis,

~ The Speaking Clock.

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