By the time you read this, I'll be eating myself to death at a McDonald's restaurant.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I'm not getting any younger, and you're not getting any richer.
I know this might seem like an unexpected departureto you, seeing as we made all those plans to grow old, fat and senile together, 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 go to the moon or a gay retared place.
I want to tell you that I think you are ...good at Scrabble, if slightly obsessed with it, 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 into bodysurfing.You like imitating 50s actors while shoe shopping,insult sword fighting, andaccusing comatose patients of lazyness,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 our respective parents, if only so we can feel unfaithful again.But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I've poured rohypnol into your cocktail again.
I'd really like us to become road sweepers or something,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, pretending we're screwing someone else.
Take care of yourself and never forget to brush your teeth. Oh wait; you don't have any, you toothless old fuck.
Bork, bork, bork,
~ Princess Peach.
P.S. I think I ran over your mom with my car earlier today. At least I think it was her, but there wasn't much left to identify... D.S.