Dear John letter
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Sunday, April 20, 2014
Dear Passing Fancy,
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 with the restraining order and everything, I was scared to use the phone again.
I'm sorry about this — but another officer as it the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need more time alone. No... More time away from you. All of it, really. Yeah. That's what I mean to say.
I want to tell you that I think you're ...alive and breathing, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You're a satanist, and I'm a member of a religion that has repeatedly confirmed that people like that are going to burn in hell. You like urine sample collecting, scratching yourself publicly, and writing 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 everyone else in the world, just to find out the answer — or at least I should, you have no hope on that score. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever the hypnotism I'm paying for wears off.
I'd really like us to become "people that ignore each other in public", if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least during those many hours of drug and alcohol induced unconsciousness.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you buried the body, and won't hesitate to contact police should the need arise.