Dear John letter
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Friday, December 19, 2014
Dear Freak of the Week,
I know this might seem like a disappointing turn for the worse to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push the boundaries of human genetics past the point of good taste by procreating, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — really. No, really. Those are teardrops on the letter, and not spittle from laughter. 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 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 card-carrying member of the Hair Club for Men, and I'm on my own plane of psychological existence. You like attacking clergymen, scratching yourself publicly, and gas tungsten arc welding, 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 Saturn orbits Pluto.
I'd really like us to become old without ever speaking to, or thinking of, each other ever again, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, at least before we met.
Take care of yourself and never forget you are now statistically 50% less likely to ever find a lasting and fulfilling relationship during your lifetime.
~ The Samaritans.