Dear Castrating Harpy,
By the time you read this, I'll be blowing your best friend. I'm sorry for doing this but, you left me no other choice. I know this might comes as a
bit of a shock to you - especially because you're an emotional cripple. But I'm sorry - I just need freedom. I think you're a psychopath, and I
don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not compatible. You're a German Scat Aficionado, and I'm beyond that. You like
declawed rodentia colonics, you eat mayonnaise-based salads, and enjoy defrauding the elderly, and I don't like any of these things. Your favorite movie is
Patch Adams, and your favorite band is Whitesnake. Do you even know what my favorite movie or band is? I once asked you what color my eyes are and you said
"Shiny". Anyway, you make me want to date an entire troupe of Chippendales. You know what else? I want to be dead to you. We can totally forget the
other is alive . We had some good times, or so you told me . But please, don't get all John Wayne Gacy like last time. That means no spiteful genital
tattoos. And look - I won't even make an issue out of the $37,291 you owe me, or the fact that you threw bleach on my face. So take care of yourself - and
please irrigate that chancre.
Yours In Contempt,
P.S. I faked every orgasm.