By the time you read this, I'll be at the Prancing Pony, waiting for the wizard to arrive.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I don't think I could restrain myself from laughing about what I saw last night.
I know this might seem like a letter of indulgenceto you, seeing as we made all those plans to buy a million rubber ducks for all our retirement savings, 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 more men, on some kind of rotating schedule.
I want to tell you that I think you are evil incarnate, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a balloon animal fan,and I am Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next.You like flaying lambs,carving CD's into lethal shurikens with which to... kill people, anddisturbing annual sci-fi conventions with whistles and cymbals,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 in Hell, after killing each other.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I sharpen my hunting knife out in the garage.
I'd really like us to become partners in crime and steal candy from helpless little kids,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, way back in the 60's during Woodstock.
Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you see a rainbow, someone is having gay sex.