Dear "Mr. Tiny",
By the time you read this, I'll be in pitched battle with God and all his host of angels.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but uh, well... now what was it again... (God dammit) Oh, yes, I was going to write to you because... because... ummmhhh... (hang on a minute)... I seem to have lost my memory so I'll just improvise a letter with no true meaning from now on, if you don't mind (which you'll probably do).
I know this might seem like I'm into polygamy or something just because I have five wives at the same time, but Elisab... Rebecca... umm, I mean Sarah, you're the only one who truly matters, I swear. Surely our time together must still mean something
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to slowly fade into non-existence, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations. I just need a dirty magazine, my right hand and a toilet paper — that's all it takes, really.
I want to tell you that I think you are the Mr. Hyde to my Doctor Jekyll, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a good-for-nothing crack whore,
and I am vastly more intelligent than that.
You like playing Worms 3D, pushing unsuspecting tourists off from very high places and watch them fall, and writing love letters to Bob Saget,
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 someday, but only if you go in for surgery and get you brain replaced. And your nose. Or to keep it simple, ask them to change everything but your name. Or have them change that as well, unless doing so would complicate billing.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever and wherever. Just joshing you. You suck.
I'd really like us to become nihilistic Al-Qaeda terrorists and blow up everything that moves,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, well, no... but no-one else has to know that.
Take care of yourself and never forget where you leave the keys. Honestly, those things are are a PAIN to find again.
God save the Queen,
~ Sheila (my street name).
P.S. That was an Amanita virosa (destroying angel) you ate yesterday, not a button mushroom as I thought. Oops, I guess I'm really bad with mushrooms... D.S.
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