By the time you read this, I'll be on a murderous rampage downtown.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but to be honest, I'd be more sorry if I were to stay.
I know this might seem like a sinister scheme from me to stage an "accident" and claim the life insurance policy on you (which it is)to you, seeing as we made all those plans to adopt a child from a thirdworldcountry for media publicity, 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 to finish that annoying Zork game on that Uncyclopedia website I told you about yesterday (it's driving me crazy, it's like no matter what you do, you'll ALWAYS end up being eaten by a grue!).
I want to tell you that I think you are in need of some serious physical therapy against your hideous acid breath, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Sagittarius,and I am a member of a religion that has repeatedly confirmed that people like that are going to burn in hell.You like toying with mousetraps,playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, andsmelling 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 just as long as you are willing to spend half your life hanging by your pinkie toes, for that's the type of torture I have planned for you..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 people that pretend not to know each other,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, assuming that "good times" is just another way of saying "total suckage".
Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you wish for coal as a Christmas present, you'll get porridge instead.