Dear John letter

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Tuesday, August 22, 2017  

Dear whatever your name may be,

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 indulgence to 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, and disturbing 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.

Badger Badger Badger,

~ Alan Smithee.

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