Dear John letter

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Tuesday, December 1, 2015

Dear John,

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 you win some, you lose some - and in your case, you lose everything.

I know this might seem like a sudden change to you, seeing as we made all those plans to visit Easter Island and go on an egg hunt, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — at least so long as I remain high. I just need to kick you while you're down, before the snooker comes on the telly.

I want to tell you that I think you're ...unusually odorous, in a good way... sometimes, 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 vastly more intelligent than that. You like having sex in dumpsters, contemplating suicide (but always being so damned indecisive), and smelling other people's 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 other people. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever my girlfriends and I are trading stories on our worst sexual experiences.

I'd really like us to become "bitter enemies, constantly plotting each other's downfall until one of us (preferably me) succeeds, giving that person (again, preferably me) the opportunity to engage in stereotypical maniacal laughter", 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 how much lower your reputation will slip as soon as I publish this on my blog.

~ Yet Another Anonymous Sex Partner.

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