Dear John letter

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9 Vicars-in-a-lift Lane,
Whoreland,
Wettingshire

Saturday, Jeremy 19, 2019

Dear Acquaintance,

By the time you read this, I'll be dead. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but your needs are inherently less important than mine.

I know this might seem like , well... inevitable, really, to you, seeing as we made all those plans to vacation in the Ivory Coast, and smuggle bits of it home to sell on the black market, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — mostly. I just need less petrol.

I want to tell you that I think you're strangely charismatic, considering your freakishly odd appearance, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You're a balloon animal fan, and I'm an amateur weightlifter. You like attacking clergymen, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and sewing extra limbs onto your body, 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 species. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I want to remember what suffering feels like.

I'd really like us to become road sweepers or something, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We've had some good times, ... well, no... but no-one else has to know that.

Take care of yourself and never forget you are now statistically 50% less likely to ever find a lasting and fulfilling relationship during your lifetime.

~ Tiddles.


P.S.: You're a bus and your father is the bus driver!.

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