By the time you read this, I'll be in pitched battle with God and all his host of angels.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your needs are inherently less important than mine.
I know this might seem like an unexpected departureto 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 — but I've been stuck in this nightmare world for months now, and writing this letter is my last chance of a wake up call.I just need need need needneed... well; I can't quite remember.
I want to tell you that I think you are so incredibly full of shit that it's a miracle that you haven't exploded into a cascading rivulet of foul smelling excrements yet, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Democrat,and I am angry.You like attacking clergymen,peeling watermelons, andfilling guinea pigs with helium,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 each other sometime in the next millennia.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever a six-legged rhinoceros flies by.
I'd really like us to become old without ever speaking to, or thinking of, each other ever again,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least during those many hours of drug and alcohol induced unconsciousness.
Take care of yourself and never forget that everything in this letter was a lie.