As you may know, I have trust issues. I don’t trust people, I don’t trust the weather. More especially, I don’t trust anything that bleeds for 5 days and doesn’t die, but I’ll eventually have to trust one with my child. That’s life. The problem is finding the “right” one. The suitable one. I think everybody’s got that special someone that gets under their skin and doesn’t go away. In my case, I think that would be you. You seem to possess this particular fungal property for me. I’m not opposed to it.
I don’t know if this statement has any second-hand value, “I love you”, but when I find out, I’ll let you know. Till then, stay alive, and I’ll try my best to stay out of trouble.
If you’re reading this letter, that means I actually worked up enough energy to hit some random buttons on the keyboard. It also means that I may’ve been drinking. But I’m not drunk. So good for me. The nerve of this negro, you may be wondering, I blame you not. I can be a bit of a chode atimes, most of the time actually, but I don’t have any apologies, none whatsoever.
Caveat emptor: you should probably do your best not to fall in love with me. I know it’s a bit too soon for me to be saying stuff like this, but I just thought to let you know. Maybe you never knew, but I’ve always been quite the self-saboteur. I have this innate tendency to screw things up, naturally, with no effort whatsoever; relationships included. It’s just one big continuous cycle where I wake up, f*ck up, get on your nerves, and stay there. As you can see, it isn’t pretty. But, I guess that’s why there’s make-up, or at least, a thing called making-up. It goes either way for me. The point is, I’m just trying to save you from the looming danger that is me. Please, don’t be a hero by trying to save me from myself, you’ll fail, I guarantee it. My willpower is about as impenetrable as a monkey’s ability to withstand bananas. I know myself better than you do. Trust me.
Call me irrespective.
P.S.- I’m not breaking up with you.
I’m breaking up with you. I’m sorry. We made love last night and you farted on me. It smelt. I can’t be in a relationship with a woman who farts on me. You obviously have no regard for my person, or my body parts as you deem it fit to just fart on them mid-coitus. I was highly disgusted last night. You tried to spray some perfume, thinking it would make things better, but it only made things worse. I’ve never told you before, but you have very bad taste. Your perfumes smell like decaying horse shit. Sphincter-loosening. Vomit-inducing. Bowel-moving. These are all terms I’d use to describe your choice of fragrances. I do not know where you came from, but I hope you go back. You are no longer welcome into my apartment. Stay away from me, and avoid beans like the plague. I bind you.
Dear entire female population,
I’m single again and can now have you all. Vacancies for the positions of side-chick and main-chick are now open. Entries close on 05/09/2014. Submit all application forms via e-mail to the following address: six@gangstermail (dot) com. Make sure to include a provocative picture of your “real” self leaving the shower in an attached file along with the one that is to be submitted. Have a nice day, and use pheromones.