Dear John letter

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Friday, January 30, 2015  

Dear Uncle Sam,

By the time you read this, I'll be in ur pet store, huffing ur kittenz. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but my eyes have yet to fully recover from last week when your wig fell off.

I know this might seem like an unexpected departure to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push the boundaries of human genetics past the point of good taste by procreating, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. I just need to kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly.

I want to tell you that I think you are ...unusually odorous, in a good way... sometimes, 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 not you. You like trying to fit inside sewer drains, pretending to be Captain America, 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 people without AIDS. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever Saturn orbits Pluto.

I'd really like us to become partners in crime and rob helpless old ladies of their retirement savings, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, during my opiate daydream earlier today, after which I woke up to the cold and harsh reality again.

Take care of yourself and never forget your true place in life (which is at my feet, groveling in abject obedience).

Namaste, and good luck,

~ The itsy bitsy spider.

P.S. Remember to drink the nut-flavored tea I poured you today. D.S.

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