Dear John letter

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Sunday, April 20, 2014  

Dear Brian, Derek ... Frank? ummmm whoever ...,

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 you weren't at home, and anyways I forgot to bring my AK with me.

I know this might seem like an episode of Days of Our Lives to you, seeing as we made all those plans to trade all our remaining STDs even-steven, 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 more time alone. No... More time away from you. All of it, really. Yeah. That's what I mean to say.

I want to tell you that I think you are on my long list of middle-rated and easily forgotten ex's, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a pederast, and I am scared of donuts. You like navel lint collecting, playing with your pasta meals until it looks like the Flying Spaghetti Monster before proceeding to eat it, and disturbing annual sci-fi conventions with whistles and cymbals, 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 Friday and then try to kill each other through strangulation (or with knives) just for fun. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever it is that I need to confess my most heinous sins on my deathbed.

I'd really like us to become born-again strangers, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before I decided to read through your diary last week.

Take care of yourself and never forget all the people we've killed together.

Happy Thanksgiving,

~ The queen of Doggerland.

P.S. You are the one billionth person to read this letter. Click here to receive your prize! D.S.

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