Dear Passive Aggressive Closet Case,

By the time you read this, I'll be servicing your sister. I'm sorry for doing this but, OK, I'm really not. I know this might comes as a bit of a brain aneurysm to you - especially because you're an emotional cripple. But I'm sorry – I just need hot sex with someone who isn't a human potato sack. I think you're a psychopath, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not compatible. You're a Scientologist, and I'm vastly superior to you. You like leather harnesses, you eat with your feet, and enjoy Aqua Velva, and I don't like two of these things. Your favorite movie is Glitter, and your favorite band is Rammstein. Do you even know what my favorite movie or band is? I once asked you what color my eyes are and you said "Nuke me some smurfing hash browns!". Anyway, I want to date an entire troupe of Chippendales. But you know what? I still want to be friends of a friend. We can totally file restraining orders . We had some good times, or so you told me . But please, don't be bitter like last time. That means no spiteful genital tattoos. And look - I won't even make an issue out of the $5,000 you owe me, or the fact that you dissected my Dalmatian. So take care of yourself - and O.D. on Botox.

Peace Out,

eternal essence

P.S. Your box is nasty stank.

boredom be gone