By the time you read this, I'll be a member of the Fantastic Four.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I'm not getting any younger, and you're not getting any richer.
I know this might seem like a slap in the faceto you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit your grand-parents to give them a big ol' kiss, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations.I just need more sex, and for longer than the 3 minutes and 2 inches you're able to provide... or was it the other way around? Anyway...
I want to tell you that I think you are a real pain in the ass, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are under surveillance by the CIA,and I am fucked up for life after 15 years of heavy heroin abuse.You like navel lint collecting,gay midgets, andfinding out a random victim's e-mail address and subscribe it to every advertisement letter you can find,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 again, but only if we're re-incarnated into each other's bodies and I get to be "you" next time. Oh yes.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "anorexia", "bulimia" and/or "starvation" in my presence.
I'd really like us to become permanently estranged,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, I assume, in some other more cheerful reality among the infinite number of alternate universes out there.
Take care of yourself and never forget that you've only got one bullet left, it's going to take more than that to stop me.