Dear John letter

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Friday, January 30, 2015  

Dear Azathoth,

By the time you read this, I'll be at the Prancing Pony, waiting for the wizard to arrive. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your feelings are inherently less valuable than mine.

I know this might seem like , complicated, bewildering, and kind of erotic to you, seeing as we made all those plans to assassinate the Pope, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but I thought that since I've now finally managed to track you down, it might be good manners to at least write one last good-bye letter to you before I kill you. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule.

I want to tell you that I think you are not the worst lover I ever had, but that would be a bald-faced lie, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nobody, and I am all that and more. You like sprinting through morning traffic while on fire, carving CD's into lethal shurikens with which to... kill people, and genitally piercing unsuspecting strangers in unemployment line queues, 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 each other sometime in the next millennia. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever do sadistic things to your digital duplicate in The Sims 3.

I'd really like us to become partners in crime and rob helpless old ladies of their retirement savings, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, but then I woke up and realised that it was just a dream.

Take care of yourself and never forget where you leave the keys. Honestly, those things are are a PAIN to find again.

Yippee ki yay, motherfucker,

~ (name is not important as we are all so much more than our names).

P.S. I accidentally dropped your cat into a bowl of hydrochloric acid yesterday. I'm afraid she got sent to the cornfield. Sorry about that. D.S.

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