By the time you read this, I'll be ill in Swine Flu.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your voice is so grating that another few phone calls from you would have left me deaf for life by the end of the year.
I know this might seem like an episode of Days of Our Livesto you, seeing as we made all those plans to infiltrate the "Amnesty International" organization and shamelessly purloin their charity funds, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little...I just need more space. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan is sounding pretty nice to me right now.
I want to tell you that I think you are at least somewhat humanoid looking (which is about the only thing you have in common with mainstream humanity), but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Nazi war criminal,and I am scared of donuts.You like beating yourself up in front of a mirror,contemplating suicide (but always being so damned indecisive), andaccusing comatose patients of lazyness,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'm having another period of severe psychotic breakdown.
I'd really like us to become jaded, cynical and bitter in our own different ways,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 that despite all the nonsense I've written in this letter, I'm still going to track you down and kill you.
Ceterum censeo Carthaginem esse delendam,
~ Your very dissatisfied penis.
P.S. That was an Amanita virosa (destroying angel) you ate yesterday, not a button mushroom as I thought. Oops, I guess I'm really bad with mushrooms... D.S.