Dear Miss Universe,
By the time you read this, I'll be flat on my back, testing the Serta® 10 Year Mattress Spring Guarantee with our mutual friend Gary.
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 sudden turn of events
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to terrorize the elderly couple that lives down the road, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — it's just a shame I waited so long to do it, and wasted so much of my valuable time. I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually.
I want to tell you that I think you are the true identity of the Zodiac Killer, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are an agnostic,
and I am a champion pie eating finalist.
You like sucking off the black guy that mows your lawn, lassoing people on subways cars, and genitally piercing unsuspecting strangers in unemployment line queues,
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 each other's pets.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I see someone wearing radish earings and a butterbeer cork necklace.
I'd really like us to become an African-American comedy duo,
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 that you are now statistically 50% less likely to ever find a lasting and fulfilling relationship during your lifetime.
Caió,
~ Your sister.
P.S. I poured some arsenic into your food yesterday. Shows what I think of infidelity, you unfaithful wench! D.S.
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