By the time you read this, I'll be heading towards Mordor in a suicide attempt to throw the One Ring into the fires of Mount Doom.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 crappy thing to doto you, seeing as we made all those plans to hack into Pentagon's databases and expose the alien cover-up in Roswell, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations.I just need nails, matches and a voodoo doll of you.
I want to tell you that I think you are ...more than passable, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an atheist,and I am stuck in an elevator with Alessandra Ambrosio (OK, the first part is true, the second is just me daydreaming).You like guessing the weight of elderly women,masturbating to gardening shows, 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 each other sometime in the next millennia.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me to define the word "promiscuous".
I'd really like us to become supervillains and plot to conquer the world together (after which I will kill you as there can only be one true Master),if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, with that goat up in the Himalayas.
Take care of yourself and never forget that everything in this letter was a lie.