Dear John letter
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Tuesday, May 5, 2015
Dear Person To Whom It May Concern,
By the time you read this, I'll be singing show tunes in the shower while members of the New York Yankees take turns exfoliating my buttocks with a loofah sponge. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but with your breath, a letter seemed the safest option.
I know this might seem like an odd twist of fate to you, seeing as we made all those plans to alphabetize our combined compact disc collections someday, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations. 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 really quite adequate, 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 hypersexual. You like laying on the floor with all the lights off, scratching yourself publicly, and arguing with the voices only you can hear over dinner plans, 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 on different continents. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I want to remember what suffering feels like.
I'd really like us to become "people that pretend they never dated", if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least while we were in separate cells at the police station.
Take care of yourself and never forget to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.