Dear Jimbo,
By the time you read this, I'll be tripping on shoelaces (I had no idea that you could get THIS high on them...).
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but my eyes have yet to fully recover from last week when your wig fell off.
I know this might seem like an unexpected departure
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to spend at least more than two hours together, 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 to go to the moon or a gay retared place.
I want to tell you that I think you are not as good looking as your MySpace photo made it appear, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the latest addition to my evergrowing list of people I'm planning to kill,
and I am allergic to air.
You like flaying lambs, dating circus midgets, and watching animal porn,
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 other people.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need to steal borrow some cash from someone.
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, unless I was just dreaming.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you live, your name and what you look like, so beware.
Ceterum censeo Carthaginem esse delendam,
~ The "I Like Cheese Monthly" Editor.
P.S. You left your Britney Spears album here yesterday. Heck, do you actually listen to that crap? D.S.
Featured Article (read another featured article)
