Dear Azathoth,
By the time you read this, I'll be sneaking destroying angels into the button mushroom meal you'll be served within 5 minutes.
I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but seeing you without makeup made homosexuality suddenly seem very feasible to me.
I know this might seem like a cowardly way of telling you that I ran over your mom with fatal outcome just 10 minutes ago
to you, seeing as we made all those plans to push you into the sea tied to a large brick, but I just don't see things working out that way.
I'm sorry about this — but as a bisexual, I'm interested in only two kinds of people — and quite frankly, you don't fit into either category. I just need more out of this relationship. Financially, emotionally, sexually, intellectually. Everythingually.
I want to tell you that I think you are exceptionally undistinguished, in a boring, non-threatening way, but I don't think we're right for each other.
First of all, we're not really compatible. You are a balloon animal fan,
and I am fucked up for life after 15 years of heavy heroin abuse.
You like stamp collecting, recording your own toilet visits and sharing it on file sharing networks as MP3's wrongfully named as famous songs, and igniting your own fart,
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 for the hell of it. It's not like we don't both have herpes.
But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever my herpes sores erupt.
I'd really like us to become people that pretend they never dated,
if that's okay with you. I think we can do it.
We had some good times, pretending we're screwing someone else.
Take care of yourself and never forget that I know where you live, your name and what you look like, so beware.
Bye,
~ You, before you became amnesiac.
P.S. You left your Britney Spears album here yesterday. Heck, do you actually listen to that crap? D.S.
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