Dear Anna, Jessica ... Sarah? ummmm whoever ...,
By the time you read this, I'll be fatally assaulted by rabid squirrels.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but attorneys cost money, and I'm eating for two now, if you know what I mean.
I know this might seem like a sinister scheme from me to stage an "accident" and claim the life insurance policy on you (which it is)
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to grow old, fat and senile together, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need a bit of a laugh.
I want to tell you that I think you are at least somewhat humanoid looking (which is about the only thing you have in common with mainstream humanity), but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a Sagittarius,
and I am everything you will never be.
You like having sex in dumpsters, tripping on your own shoelaces on purpose just so you can blame the jews for it, and dissecting frogs with butterknives,
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 each other sometime in the next millennia.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I'm solving a crossword and have to come up with a synonym for the word "stupid".
I'd really like us to become road sweepers or something,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, assuming that "good times" is just another way of saying "total suckage".
Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you live, your name and what you look like, so beware.
Police be upon you,
~ Name and address withheld.
P.S. Remember to drink the nut-flavored tea I poured you today. D.S.
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