Dear Regan MacNeil,
By the time you read this, I'll be transfering my child porn collection into your computer and turning it in for repair.
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 big sick demented joke in a vortex of meaninglessness
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to burn down our neighbor's house, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — but I've been stuck in this nightmare world for months now, and writing this letter is my last chance of a wake up call. I just need more space. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan is sounding pretty nice to me right now.
I want to tell you that I think you are not the worst lover I ever had, but that would be a bald-faced lie, 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 allergic to air.
You like other men, peeling watermelons, and making faces at babies until they cry,
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 in another life — preferably a previous one.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone mentions the words "ugly", "useless" and/or "stupid" in my presence.
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, even if they only lasted a few microseconds.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm being entirely serious.
Ceterum censeo Carthaginem esse delendam,
~ Captain Oblivious.
P.S. This is what the alphabet would look like without Q and R. D.S.
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