By the time you read this, I'll be having future visions of myself in April 29, 2010.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 very large malignant tumour on your L4 vertebrae (and to be truthful, it is)to you, seeing as we made all those plans to alphabetize our combined compact disc collections someday, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain intoxicated.I just need to go to the moon or a gay retared place.
I want to tell you that I think you are exceptionally undistinguished, in a boring, non-threatening way, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a blathering windbag who needs a nice big cup of shut the fuck up,and I am really your split personality, writing letters to itself and pretending to be an actual person.You like traveling to other cities and show up uninvited at total strangers birthday parties,contemplating suicide (but always being so damned indecisive), andgenitally piercing unsuspecting strangers in unemploymentline queues,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 — oh wait, I meant to write "hate" of course.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, I think.
Take care of yourself and never forget that each day of your life may be the last as long as I'm around.