Dear John letter

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For those without comedic tastes, the so-called experts at Wikipedia have an article about Dear John letter.


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Friday, July 31, 2015  

Dear you with that unpronouncable name,

By the time you read this, I'll be selling my soul on eBay for 10,000 dollars. 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 an Uncyclopedia in-joke to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push you into the sea tied to a large brick, 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 more cowbell.

I want to tell you that I think you are ...good at Scrabble, if slightly obsessed with it, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are not even real, just a Sim character I created last week in The Sims 3, and I am Republican. You like groping fresh produce, bobbing for old tires in the East River, and watching animal porn, 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 when Hell freezes over. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone jokingly claims that there's a monster standing behind me.

I'd really like us to become that kind of insufferable cinemagoers who've read the plot in advance and sits and yell out spoilers throughout the film to the annoyance of everyone else, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, while we were three thousand miles away from each other.

Take care of yourself and never forget that I still have your diary and can at any time mail the most embarrassing parts (like the chapter about the summer of -04) of it to The New York Times.

Ceterum censeo Carthaginem esse delendam,

~ Your very dissatisfied penis.

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