Dear John Bull,
By the time you read this, I'll be feeding your pet goldfishes to my cats Hortensia and Petunia.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but you win some, you lose some - and in your case, you lose everything.
I know this might seem like a big sick demented joke in a vortex of meaninglessness
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to run the 3rd marathon around the world together (tied together, that is), but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — well, sort of, at least, kind of, maybe, a little... I just need more length from you than I'm getting, and let's face it — you're shrinking with age.
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 an epic fail,
and I am vastly less intelligent than that.
You like beating yourself up in front of a mirror, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and practicing surgery on household pests,
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 again, but only if we're re-incarnated into each other's bodies and I get to be "you" next time. Oh yes.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "seven and half", "inch" and "cock" in my presence.
I'd really like us to become engaged in a brutal medieval fight to the death with the good ole' armour, horse and lances (but only if I get to win),
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, but then I woke up and realised that it was just a dream.
Take care of yourself and never forget that every time you see a rainbow, someone is having gay sex.
Auf wiedersehen,
~ Your new ex.
P.S. It was me who assassinated J.F. Kennedy. D.S.
Featured Article (read another featured article)
