Dear you with that unpronouncable name,
By the time you read this, I'll be a blowing rich, retired businessmen on a slow boat to China.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but well... no, I'm not sorry. Lying was always my worst problem with you, and I'm sorry. No. No, I'm not.
I know this might seem like a kick in the nuts
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to cannibalize your family, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — but as a bisexual, I'm interested in only two kinds of people — and quite frankly, you don't fit into either category. I just need a bit of a laugh.
I want to tell you that I think you are a virgin, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an atheist,
and I am suicidal.
You like fondling barnyard animals, tripping on your own shoelaces on purpose just so you can blame the jews for it, and playing King Kong with dollhouses in toystores (and going to jail for it),
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 other species.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever my house is in need of some serious cleaning up.
I'd really like us to become people that pretend they never dated,
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 your psychiatrist thinks you're a jerk too.
Hasta la Vista Baby!,
~ That old woman next door.
P.S. You are the one billionth person to read this letter. Click here to receive your prize! D.S.
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