Dear John letter

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Sunday, August 2, 2015  

Dear Person To Whom It May Concern,

By the time you read this, I'll be trying to cut off my own legs with a toothbrush (just to see if it can be done). 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 change 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 — it's just a shame I waited so long to do it, and wasted so much of my valuable time. I just need to enter "4 8 15 16 23 42" into my command prompt every 108th minute.

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 a blathering windbag who needs a nice big cup of shut the fuck up, and I am a mother of two-and-a-half. You like beating yourself up in front of a mirror, lassoing people on subways cars, and belly-button sniffing, 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 each other's pets. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I watch Aphex Twin's music video for Windowlicker and the "hot babe" turns around.

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, my left hand and I.

Take care of yourself and never forget that the xenomorph implanted in your chest is going to erupt and kill you violently within two hours.

Farewell For Ever,

~ Your former sister-in-law.

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