Dear John letter

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84 Strange Man Avenue,
Wenselydale,
Fattingshire

Sunday, Jeremy 13, 2019

Dear John,

By the time you read this, I'll be doing my "happy dance" naked, on the side of the M25 motorway. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I'm not getting any younger, and you're not getting any richer.

I know this might seem like an unexpected departure to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push the boundaries of human genetics past the point of good taste by procreating, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — or at least that's what you're supposed to say in these situations. I just need a bit of a laugh.

I want to tell you that I think you're really quite adequate, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You're wanted in nineteen states, and I'm a champion pie eating finalist. You like running about, lassoing people on subways cars, and making faces at babies until they cry, 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 again, but only if we're re-incarnated into each other's bodies and I get to be "you" next time. Oh yes. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I need to tell my side of the story on Jerry Springer.

I'd really like us to become "people that ignore each other in public", if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We've had some good times, at least before we met.

Take care of yourself and never forget that experts say that experts say that experts say that experts are wrong and that you're a faggot.

~ Alan.


P.S.: I've turned gay, so send me a child adoption form.

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