Dear John letter

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Wednesday, May 4, 2016  

Dear Santa,

By the time you read this, I'll be in your room, stealing your socks. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but attorneys cost money, and I'm eating for two now, if you know what I mean.

I know this might seem like an episode of Days of Our Lives to 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 another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly.

I want to tell you that I think you are going to get coal for Christmas this year, being as naughty as you are, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are not even real, just a Sim character I created last week in The Sims 3, and I am Maximus Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions, loyal servant to the true emperor, Marcus Aurelius. Father to a murdered son, husband to a murdered wife. And I will have my vengeance, in this life or the next. You like harassing sleeping rottweilers, stabbing yourself with carrots, and playing King Kong with dollhouses in toystores (and going to jail for it), 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 as soon as possible, since the Internet connection on my computer isn't working, and I figured I could browse through your computer during our "date". But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "seven and half", "inch" and "cock" in my presence.

I'd really like us to become friends, but I think that won't happen. I rather not speak to you again, 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 to eat your vegetables.

Stop by sometime,

~ Lara Bingle.

P.S. Now I have a machine gun. Ho ho ho. D.S.

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