By the time you read this, I'll be burnt at stake by the Spanish Inquisition.I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I finally got around to reading your "poems" this morning, and I figure that this is better than a bullet in the head.
I know this might seem like , well... inevitable, really,to 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 — but if the writing's a but shakey that's only because of my helpless, loud and hysterical laughter.I just need to engage in homicidal behavior on a massive scale. It can not be corrected but I have no other way to fulfill my needs.
I want to tell you that I think you are Jimbo, but I don't think we're right for each other.First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nothing,and I am really your split personality, writing letters to itself and pretending to be an actual person.You like bathing in gasoline,dating circus midgets, andgenitally piercing unsuspecting strangers in unemploymentline queues,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 as soon as possible, since the Internet connection on my computer isn't working, and I figured I could browse through your computer during our "date".But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I must scream for help because someone has raped me (again).
I'd really like us to become jaded, cynical and bitter in our own different ways,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, well, no... but no-one else has to know that.