Dear John letter

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Sunday, August 28, 2016  

Dear whatever your name may be,

By the time you read this, I'll be hitchhiking to Wal-Mart to choose your replacement. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your needs are inherently less important than mine.

I know this might seem like an insidious scheme to dominate the universe to you, seeing as we made all those plans to cannibalize your family, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need need need need need... well; I can't quite remember.

I want to tell you that I think you are evil and manipulative, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are committed, literally, and I am fucked up for life after 15 years of heavy heroin abuse. You like smoking banana peels, harassing sheep until they explode, 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 again, but in another life — preferably a previous one. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I want to, which isn't often.

I'd really like us to become bitter enemies, constantly plotting each other's downfall until one of us (preferably me) succeeds, giving that person (again, preferably me) the opportunity to engage in stereotypical maniacal laughter, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least when we turned the clock forward a few hours and then pretended that something nice happened during that time (whereas nothing at all happened, really).

Take care of yourself and never forget to write down the number of every donkey cart that hits you.

Fuck off,

~ Your Siamese twin.

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