Dear God I can't believe I'll soon be rid of you at long last,
By the time you read this, I'll be constrained within a straight-jacket in some place soft, drooling obscenely over your past nude pictures.
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 an odd twist of fate
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to live together in happily unwedded bliss, or a reasonable facsimile, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — I think. I just need more time alone. No... More time away from you. All of it, really. Yeah. That's what I mean to say.
I want to tell you that I think you are a..well...um...okay, nice...yeah...maybe, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nobody,
and I am an amateur weightlifter.
You like having sex in dumpsters, juggling chainsaws, 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 on other planets.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I run around screaming and foaming in my padded cell.
I'd really like us to become permanently estranged,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, which lasted until you unexpectedly woke up from your coma.
Take care of yourself and never forget that it's going to take more than a restraining order to keep me away from our children — they are mine too and I will not be denied them.
Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year,
~ God.
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