Dear John letter
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Saturday, February 6, 2016
By the time you read this, I'll be serving number 977. If you get here quickly enough, you might be able to get in to see me before I wash the stink of manfilth from my body and go home for the night. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your feelings are inherently less valuable than mine.
I know this might seem like a slap in the face 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 — mostly. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule.
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 wanted in nineteen states, and I'm hypersexual. You like projectile vomiting, talking like Captain Kirk, and belly-button sniffing, 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 finally track you down and kill you.
I'd really like us to become slowly solidified into a kind of buttery jell, 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 to double-bag "Uncle Willy" from now on.