Dear you with that unpronouncable name,
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 I'm not getting any younger, and you're not getting any richer.
I know this might seem like an odd twist of fate
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push the boundaries of human genetics past the point of good taste by procreating, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly.
I want to tell you that I think you are ...more than passable, 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 pregnant.
You like toying with mousetraps, gay midgets, and feeding rice to sea gulls,
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 but only so I'll get another shot at killing your for real.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I watch Aphex Twin's music video for Windowlicker and the "hot babe" turns around.
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, at least before we met.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm no longer in a coma.
Toodle Pip,
~ DJ Pie Saftey.
P.S. I think I ran over your mom with my car earlier today. At least I think it was her, but there wasn't much left to identify... D.S.
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