Dear John letter

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Saturday, June 24, 2017  

Dear John Bull,

By the time you read this, I'll be vandalizing Wikipedia. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your feelings are inherently less valuable than mine.

I know this might seem like a sudden turn of events to you, seeing as we made all those plans to drink the blood of every man, woman and child in Iraq, 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 more space. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan is sounding pretty nice to me right now.

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 one of Evil Bert's sinister henchmen, and I am a fucked-up loser who only likes to hang around you because of your money. You like smoking banana peels, peeling watermelons, and you cannot lie, the other brothers can't deny, when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung, 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 on different continents. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I walk past the ape cages at the zoo.

I'd really like us to become partners in crime and rob helpless old ladies of their retirement savings, 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 where you leave the keys. Honestly, those things are are a PAIN to find again.

Auf wiedersehen,

~ Your new ex.

P.S. You forgot your dildo at my place when you visited me last Sunday. D.S.

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