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Friday, May 25, 2018  

Dear Gordon Freeman,

By the time you read this, I'll be hitchhiking to Wal-Mart to choose your replacement. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but enough is enough. I've HAD it with these motherfucking snakes on this motherfucking plane!

I know this might seem like a bit of a shock to you, seeing as we made all those plans to infiltrate the "Amnesty International" organization and shamelessly purloin their charity funds, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. I just need more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age.

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 an epic fail, and I am not. You like playing Worms 3D, masturbating to gardening shows, and smelling your fingers, 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 everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I run around screaming and foaming in my padded cell.

I'd really like us to become nihilistic Al-Qaeda terrorists and blow up everything that moves, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, five past seven on Sunday November 3rd 2003 springs to mind, for instance.

Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you live, your name and what you look like, so beware.

Badger Badger Badger,

~ Your alternate reality granddaughter.