Dear Passing Fancy,
By the time you read this, I'll be in Iraq, serving in whatever ways I’m needed most. I fear that the military is the only way to make our relationship last, and seeing as you're a pacifist, I decided to join.
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 kick in the nuts
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, 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 to finish that annoying Zork game on that Uncyclopedia website I told you about yesterday (it's driving me crazy, it's like no matter what you do, you'll ALWAYS end up being eaten by a grue!).
I want to tell you that I think you are my repressed feminine side, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are committed, literally,
and I am your father.
You like caressing lamp accessories, carving CD's into lethal shurikens with which to... kill people, 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 on different continents.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I must scream for help because someone has raped me (again).
I'd really like us to become ultranerds who always writes in leet speech and uses Internet abbreviations such as LOL, ITA, IIRC, YMMV and IMHO in common speech,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, at least during those many hours of drug and alcohol induced unconsciousness.
Take care of yourself and never forget to write down the number of every donkey cart that hits you.
See you in Hell,
~ The collective members of your band.
P.S. Remember to drink the nut-flavored tea I poured you today. D.S.
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