That one night in Maine was all it took to lure me away from my desk job as a night clerk on the fifth floor of a stuffy accounting office on the southern tip of Santa Barbara. I packed my mother's ancient suitcase with my few meager belongings, including a collection of 45's from the sixties and seventies, a statuette of the Virgin Mary given to me by my godfather when I was twelve, a fully-illustrated copy of Don Quixote, and my favorite pieces of costume jewelry left over from the eighties that I'd collected from thrift stores through the years. I left what I couldn't carry in the care of my mother's assistant; I gifted the rest of the jewelry to my sister and cousins; and I left, for the first time, the only life I had ever known.

Smoking the very last of every cigarette, licking the caps of liqour bottles, sucking the souls out of every corpse and counting every last second until I see you again.

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,

Malfeasance

P.S. I faked every orgasm.