Dear John letter

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Revision as of 07:04, December 8, 2006

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Thursday, October 2, 2014

Dear Freak of the Week,

By the time you read this, I'll be sipping butane martinis on the way to Nicaragua. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I've misplaced my copy of Paul Simon's "50 Ways to Leave Your Lover" and I had to improvise.

I know this might seem like , well... inevitable, really, to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push you into the sea tied to a large brick, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. I just need more space. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan is sounding pretty nice to me right now.

I want to tell you that I think you're strangely charismatic, considering your freakishly odd appearance, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You're wanted in nineteen states, and I'm a member of a religion that has repeatedly confirmed that people like that are going to burn in hell. You like fondling barnyard animals, lassoing people on subways cars, and watching animal porn, 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 again, but in another life — preferably a previous one. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever Saturn orbits Pluto.

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, five past seven on Sunday November 3rd 2003 springs to mind, for instance.

Take care of yourself and never forget your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.

~ Mom.

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