By the time you read this, I'll be in your room, stealing your socks.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with the restraining order and everything, I was scared to use the phone again.
I know this might seem like a sudden changeto 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 — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little...I just need to plot your murder for another week and I'm set to go.
I want to tell you that I think you are at least somewhat humanoid looking (which is about the only thing you have in common with mainstream humanity), but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are heiress to the throne of Rondark,and I am a mother of two-and-a-half.You like harassing sleeping rottweilers,recording your own toilet visits and sharing it on file sharing networks as MP3's wrongfully named as famous songs, andwatching animal porn,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 other people.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 partners in crime and steal candy from helpless little kids,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, my left hand and I.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you buried the body, and won't hesitate to contact police should the need arise.