Protected page

Dear John letter

From Uncyclopedia, the content-free encyclopedia
(Redirected from Dear John)
Jump to navigation Jump to search
(random content ~ click for a different version)
Letter Background.jpg

Wax seal.jpg
Ink spot1.png



Potatohead aqua.png
Featured version: 8 December 2006
This article has been featured on the front page. You can vote for or nominate your favourite articles at Uncyclopedia:VFH.Template:FA/08 December 2006Template:FA/2006Template:FQ/08 December 2006Template:FQ/2006
Hand pencil.png
Thursday, December 25, 2025  

Dear Penis (with life support system attachment),


By the time you read this, I'll be flat on my back, testing the Serta® 10 Year Mattress Spring Guarantee with our mutual friend Gary. I'm sorry for leaving you this way, but it's not like the world isn't going to end on December 21, 2012 anyway.

I know this might seem like a slap in the face to you, seeing as we made all those plans to enter the Guinness Book of World Records by the becoming the first couple ever to watch "The Cure for Insomnia" without falling asleep, but I just don't see things working out that way.

I'm sorry about this — well; not really. I just thought it'd sound good. I just need to finish that annoying Zork game on that Uncyclopedia website I told you about yesterday (it's driving me crazy, it's like no matter what you do, you'll ALWAYS end up being eaten by a grue!).

I want to tell you that I think you are not the worst lover I ever had, but that would be a bald-faced lie, but I don't think we're right for each other. First of all, we're not really compatible. You are nothing, and I am on my own plane of psychological existence. You like harassing sleeping rottweilers, carving CD's into lethal shurikens with which to... kill people, 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 on Friday and then try to kill each other through strangulation (or with knives) just for fun. But I want you to know that I'll think of you whenever someone asks me to define the word "retarded".

I'd really like us to become slowly solidified into a kind of buttery jell, if that's okay with you. I think we can do it. We had some good times, before the psychiatrist told me that you're just a figment of my imagination.

Take care of yourself and never forget all the people we've killed together.

Bork, bork, bork,

~ Sailor Moon.

P.S. You forgot your dildo at my place when you visited me last Sunday. D.S.

‏‏