Dear "Mr. Tiny",
By the time you read this, I'll be mutated into something unrecognizable.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but my sadistic urges have become completely uncontrollable, and I don’t think I can see you again without having to torture you.
I know this might seem like a bit of a shock
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 — I think. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly.
I want to tell you that I think you are exceptionally undistinguished, in a boring, non-threatening way, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are wanted in nineteen states,
and I am an Uncyclopedia in-joke.
You like attacking clergymen, talking like Captain Kirk, and you cannot lie, the other brothers can't deny, when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face you get sprung,
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 different continents.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever my herpes sores erupt.
I'd really like us to become the de facto lead couple in one of those crappy never ending sitcoms that plays annoying canned laughter after every damn sentence, be it funny or not,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, before the police accidently found the body hidden in your closet.
Take care of yourself and never forget that you are now statistically 50% less likely to ever find a lasting and fulfilling relationship during your lifetime.
Toodle Pip,
~ The Pope.
P.S. Give me five million dollars now, or I'll scratch my own eyeballs out. Just kidding, he he he! I bet you fell for that one. D.S.
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