Dear John letter
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Elton John's left lung
Wednesday, Aym 15, 2019
Dear <insert name here>,
By the time you read this, I'll be serving number 977. If you get here quickly enough, you might be able to get in to see me before I wash the stink of manfilth from my body and go home for the night. 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 a sudden change to you, seeing as we made all those plans to assassinate the Pope, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — but another officer as it the door - I'll write more in an hour. I just need to find someone who is male and breathes — and quickly.
I want to tell you that I think you're ...alive and breathing, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You're a 2-star album - not much vim and vigor, just endless bass, and I'm ten-foot madman designed to kill and destroy you. You like navel lint collecting, painting your eyelids with pictures of eyeballs, and filling guinea pigs with helium, 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 a 4lb mullet. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever the hypnotism I'm paying for wears off.
I'd really like us to become "acquaintances", 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 I have the sniper rifle, and I know how to use it.
~ Your 15th adopted mother (BECAUSE NO ONE LIKES YOU...).