Dear John letter

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Thursday, March 30, 2017  

Dear Miss Chernobyl,

By the time you read this, I'll be captured by the FBI. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with all the botox in your face, I might as well be fraternizing with mannequins instead. At least those don't have every STD known to man...

I know this might seem like an odd twist of fate to you, seeing as we made all those plans to destroy the universe, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but as a bisexual, I'm interested in only two kinds of people — and quite frankly, you don't fit into either category. I just need to kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly.

I want to tell you that I think you are ...unusually odorous, in a good way... sometimes, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are under surveillance by the CIA, and I am not the type of person to be running around screaming that I have a "relationship". You like stamp collecting, 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 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 throw up.

I'd really like us to become born-again strangers, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, pretending we're screwing someone else.

Take care of yourself and never forget that everything in this letter was a lie.

Good luck with your castrated penis,

~ Anonymous.

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