Dear John letter

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Tuesday, May 31, 2016  

Dear all-boobs-and-no-brains,

By the time you read this, I'll be writing to Uncyclopedia. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but uh, well... now what was it again... (God dammit) Oh, yes, I was going to write to you because... because... ummmhhh... (hang on a minute)... I seem to have lost my memory so I'll just improvise a letter with no true meaning from now on, if you don't mind (which you'll probably do).

I know this might seem like a disappointing turn for the worse to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly.

I want to tell you that I think you are a Terminator sent from the future to kill me, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the latest addition to my evergrowing list of people I'm planning to kill, and I am your Siamese twin. You like stamp collecting, contemplating suicide (but always being so damned indecisive), and dissecting frogs with butterknives, 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 each other sometime in the next millennia. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I throw up.

I'd really like us to become Siamese twins (we might have to undergo an extensive surgery for that though), if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, during my opiate daydream earlier today, after which I woke up to the cold and harsh reality again.

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

Hasta la Vista Baby!,

~ DJ Pie Saftey.

P.S. I think I ran over your mom with my car earlier today. At least I think it was her, but there wasn't much left to identify... D.S.

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