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Dear Sex toy,
I want to tell you that I think you are a Cylon imposter, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are the latest addition to my evergrowing list of people I'm planning to kill, and I am on my own plane of psychological existence. You like flicking staples at livestock, gay midgets, and practicing surgery on household pests, 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 each other sometime in the next millennia. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever I smell that characteristic composite stench of rotten eggs, garlic and blue cheese again.
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, or so we'll pretend.
Take care of yourself and never forget that despite all the nonsense I've written in this letter, I'm still going to track you down and kill you.
~ Your alternate reality granddaughter.