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Dear John letter
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Dear John letter.
Dear Mario,
By the time you read this, I'll be at one with the universe.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but time is money, and according to your most current bank statement you have insufficient funds to purchase additional time credits 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 enter the Guinness Book of World Records by the becoming the first couple ever to watch "The Cure for Insomnia" without falling asleep, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need to go to the moon or a gay retared place.
I want to tell you that I think you are a fucking ugly bitch, and I want to stab you to death, and then play around with your blood, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nothing,
and I am the creep who have been sending you human ears every Friday for the last eight months.
You like trying to fit inside sewer drains, insult sword fighting, and watching DaxFlame on YouTube while singing "Lucy in the Sky of Diamonds",
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 our own mirror images.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I dig your cold, dead body up again to have sex with you.
I'd really like us to become snobbish self-styled intellectuals who always change the subject to 19th century Russian literature in order to look smart everytime a third person approaches,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, up until the effect of the morphine wore off.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm no longer in a coma.
I hope you get some sick,
~ Brother Eggs-over-easy.
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