Dear future amnesiac self,
By the time you read this, I'll be vandalizing Wikipedia.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but attorneys cost money, and I'm eating for two now, if you know what I mean.
I know this might seem like karmic kannibalism
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to trade all our remaining STDs even-steven, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need to go to the moon or a gay retared place.
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 from another dimension,
and I am disappointed.
You like having sex in dumpsters, bobbing for old tires in the East River, and gas tungsten arc welding,
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 someone asks me to define the word "ugliness".
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, I think.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I'm much happier without you.
Sieg Heil,
~ Quinn the eskimo.
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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