Dear Zanny,
I don't really know how to tell you this, but our romance is over. I think I realized it when I finally changed my underwear in your apartment and I saw you sit on my salt-beef bucket. I'm sure you're scarred enough to understand that I get turned on only by garbage men. I'm returning the couch cushions to you, but I'll keep your collection of butterflies as a memory. You should also know that I mocked you behing your back constantly and you ruined my attempts at another world war.
Go drown yourself,
James
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