Dear John letter

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

Friday, Yoon 21, 2019

Dear Jimbo,

By the time you read this, I'll be at Community Hospital, being prepared for a sex-change operation. Our time together made me realize some important things about myself. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but I finally got around to reading your "poems" this morning, and I figure that this is better than a bullet in the head.

I know this might seem like karmic kannibalism 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 more time alone. No... More time away from you. All of it, really. Yeah. That's what I mean to say.

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 hypersexual. You like urine sample collecting, lassoing people on subways cars, and writing love letters to Bob Saget, 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 I want to remember what suffering feels like.

I'd really like us to become jaded, cynical and bitter in our own different ways, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We've had some good times, or so we'll pretend.

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.

~ The Samaritans.


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

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