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Dear John letter
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Dear [insert name of recipient here],
By the time you read this, I'll be howling strangely in the streaming moonlight.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your voice is so grating that another few phone calls from you would have left me deaf for life by the end of the year.
I know this might seem like a sudden turn of events
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 — mostly. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule.
I want to tell you that I think you are the unidentified person I ran over with my truck at 10:40 P.M. yesterday, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the only one in the world who actually thinks Jason Friedberg and Aaron Seltzer are funny,
and I am a Mousketeer.
You like stomping on turtles after eating mushrooms, scratching yourself publicly, and watching animal porn,
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 when Hell freezes over.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I spy on your naked self with the hidden camera I've installed in your shower stall.
I'd really like us to become theatrical actors in a Romeo & Juliet play, except we'll kill ourselves for real in the end just for the sake of realism,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, way back in the 60's during Woodstock.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you buried the body, and won't hesitate to contact police should the need arise.
Adios,
~ 4.252.99.182.
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