Dear John letter

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Saturday, November 18, 2017  

Dear tomorrow's headlines,

By the time you read this, I'll be stranded on a deserted island. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your needs are inherently less important than mine.

I know this might seem like a very large malignant tumour on your L4 vertebrae (and to be truthful, it is) to you, seeing as we made all those plans to continue grossing out teens and old people with our cherished "skinny dip and snogging" expeditions to the fountain in the public square, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but honestly, putting my hamster in the microwave was too much. I just need more cowbell.

I want to tell you that I think you are the unidentified person I ran over with my truck at 10:40 P.M. yesterday, 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 scared of donuts. You like stomping on turtles after eating mushrooms, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans, 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 for the hell of it. It's not like we don't both have herpes. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need a good laugh.

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, before I decided to read through your diary last week.

Take care of yourself and never forget that your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.

May the Force be with you,

~ Mom.

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