Dear John letter

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Monday, April 22, 2019  

Dear other half,

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 know what you're thinking: "Did he fire six shots or only five?" Well, to tell you the truth, in all this excitement I kind of lost track myself. But being as this is a .44 Magnum, the most powerful handgun in the world, and would blow your head clean off, you've got to ask yourself a question: Do I feel lucky? Well, do ya, punk?

I know this might seem like a total violation of the laws of physics to you, seeing as we made all those plans to infiltrate the "Red Cross" organization and shamelessly purloin their charity funds, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — but if the writing's a but shakey that's only because of my helpless, loud and hysterical laughter. I just need more space. Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan is sounding pretty nice to me right now.

I want to tell you that I think you are going to get coal for Christmas this year, being as naughty as you are, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are heiress to the throne of Rondark, and I am Republican. You like using magnifying glasses to kill aunts, huffing kittens, 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 our own mirror images. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I practice knife stabbing on mannequin dolls.

I'd really like us to become people that pretend not to know each other, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, five past seven on Sunday November 3rd 2003 springs to mind, for instance.

Take care of yourself and never forget to write down the number of every donkey cart that hits you.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,

~ 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.