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 surpriseto 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, andwriting 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.