Dear Anna, Jessica ... Sarah? ummmm whoever ...,
By the time you read this, I'll be watching The Uncyclopedia Movie.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with all the botox in your face, I might as well be fraternizing with mannequins instead. At least those don't have every STD known to man...
I know this might seem like a sinister scheme from me to stage an "accident" and claim the life insurance policy on you (which it is)
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 — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations. I just need more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age.
I want to tell you that I think you are going to find out that the anthrax I've contaminated this letter with might be quite unpleasant once it's started to take hold on you, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Nazi war criminal,
and I am not the type of person to be running around screaming that I have a "relationship".
You like urine sample collecting, harassing sheep until they explode, and smelling your fingers,
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 snobbish self-styled intellectuals who always change the subject to 19th century Russian literature in order to look smart everytime a third person approaches,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, before the police accidently found the body hidden in your closet.
Take care of yourself and never forget our honeymoon on Mount Doom.
Farewell For Ever,
~ Concerned Citizen.
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