Dear "Mr. It was only a dream" (as my psychiatrist insists I refer to you these days) ,
By the time you read this, I'll be devolved into an amorphous amoeba.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 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 — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good.I just need need need needneed... well; I can't quite remember.
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 pedophile,and I am into streaking.You like guessing the weight of elderly women,lassoing people on subways cars, andsmelling your fingers,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 see a couple screaming at each other in public.
I'd really like us to become born-again strangers,if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before we ended up in Hell together.
Take care of yourself and never forget that you are now statistically 50% less likely to ever find a lasting and fulfilling relationship during your lifetime.
God save the Queen,
~ (name is not important as we are all so much more than our names).