Dear John letter

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Saturday, February 6, 2016  

Dear Uncle Sam,

By the time you read this, I'll be eaten alive by Jabba the Hutt. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your needs are inherently less important than mine.

I know this might seem like a letter of indulgence to you, seeing as we made all those plans to spend at least more than two hours together, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need need need need need... well; I can't quite remember.

I want to tell you that I think you are ...alive and breathing, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a card-carrying member of the Hair Club for Men, and I am deaf, dumb and blind. You like sucking off the black guy that mows your lawn, masturbating to gardening shows, and writing love letters to Bob Saget, 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 just as long as you are willing to spend half your life hanging by your pinkie toes, for that's the type of torture I have planned for you.. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever and wherever. Just joshing you. You suck.

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, with that goat up in the Himalayas.

Take care of yourself and never forget that time when I showed everyone a picture of your penis. That was funny.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,

~ God.

P.S. It was me who raped your little sister last summer. I hope you'll one day forgive me. D.S.

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