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Friday, October 19, 2018  

Dear Jimbo,

By the time you read this, I'll be eaten by a grue. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I have stolen three nuclear warheads and am planning to commit suicide by detonating them (in midtown New York, just to spice things up).

I know this might seem like a big surprise to you, seeing as we made all those plans to hack into Pentagon's databases and expose the alien cover-up in Roswell, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but I've been stuck in this nightmare world for months now, and writing this letter is my last chance of a wake up call. I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually.

I want to tell you that I think you are evil and manipulative, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the demi-duchess of Kumswalla, and I am worried about it. You like fondling barnyard animals, dressing up as yourself during Halloween, and writing love letters to Bob Saget, 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 virtualized Sim replicas of each other. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm too lazy to clean my dishes by myself.

I'd really like us to become a Heathcliff and Catherine-like ghost couple and creep out softhearted onlookers in our restless afterlife, 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 that I know where you live, your name and what you look like, so beware.

Adios,

~ Your abusive stepfather.