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Dear John letter
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Dear tomorrow's headlines,
By the time you read this, I'll be held at gunpoint by my twisted aunt Maggie for stealing cookies from the cookie jar.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your needs are inherently less important than mine.
I know this might seem like an unexpected departure
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to grow old, fat and senile together, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — but another officer is at the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need more men, on some kind of rotating schedule.
I want to tell you that I think you are a Cylon imposter, 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 worried about it.
You like navel lint collecting, stabbing yourself with carrots, and belly-button sniffing,
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 species.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I throw up.
I'd really like us to become jaded, cynical and bitter in our own different ways,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, before the psychatrist told me that you're just a figment of my imagination.
Take care of yourself and never forget to write down the number of every donkey cart that hits you.
Live long and prosper,
~ The collective members of your band.
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