Dear John letter
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Sunday, February 7, 2016
By the time you read this, I'll be the first triple MILLION winner EVER in the NATIONAL LOTTERY!!!! YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but one of us has to go, and the strychnine I've been adding to your Corn Flakes doesn't seem to be working.
I know this might seem like a big sick demented joke in a vortex of meaninglessness to you, seeing as we made all those plans to spend at least more than two hours together, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — I think. I just need more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age.
I want to tell you that I think you're ...exceedingly punctual, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You're a card-carrying member of the Hair Club for Men, and I'm scared of donuts. You like bungee jumping from church steeples, masturbating to gardening shows, and making faces at babies until they cry, 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, which isn't often.
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 I have the sniper rifle, and I know how to use it.