Dear Louise

My once-dear Louise,

How have you been? I ask this even though I know you don’t give a damn how I am, because I guess I’m still a little in love with you, even after the shit you pulled.

Where to start? Well, I knew in my heart of hearts when we started dating that it was a doomed romance from the start. My friends only rated you a 5, and only that much because you were with me. I normally go for prettier, thinner girls, but I took you to be a kindred soul, and I guess on the surface you were. But a mutual love of chicken alfredo, corgies, and Tarantino movies is no basis for a strong relationship. I was willing to hack it, even as you abandoned me for your work, your lovely family(whom never liked me) and your bitchy friends (who talked shit about you every time you left the room just fyi.)

But I digress. This isn’t about your lack of commitment or selfish devotion to everyone but me. This is about your unrealistic expectations. I’m a man, Louise. M-A-N man. I’m an individualist, and my first instinct when ordered to do something is to disobey it. So what the hell did you expect when you told me not to touch that fucking space rock? You know what I’m like, and if I didn’t know any better I’d say you wanted me to touch it, like that weird reverse-psychology trip you lay on me every time we go out.

I don’t know what you were taught growing up, but it was my understanding that relationships take work. You don’t just drop your boyfriend of six whole months the second he gets some weird alien sickness, that makes you look like a coldhearted bitch. Even if that night had been going pretty well (and believe me, it hadn’t) it really went downhill when you went all crazy and started screaming in my face. I know I’m not some buff alpha jerk with a six-pack and I know I was all covered with unidentifiable black crap that jumped off the meteor, but you could show a little class. Were you even thinking about how I felt?

Also, it was a huge blow to my self-esteem when you pulled away from sex later that night. That horrible growth hadn’t even reached my crotch by then, you hypocrite. I don’t burst out crying when you whip out your thing, and believe me it hasn’t always been all sparkles and sunshine. I realize my personal hygiene, even before all this, left a little something to be desired. But how do you expect a man constantly leaking black ichor to “wipe properly”? What is your deal with hygiene anyway? We’re clearly dealing with some unresolved issues, here.

I feel like I’ve been very understanding in the past of your little “moods” but for you to turn around and decide not to tolerate my screaming spells is just the height of hypocrisy. Why should a man who doesn’t smoke, doesn’t drink, never hit you suddenly become intolerable because he screams gibberish at random intervals? You tell me the words feel like someone “rubbing a rough hand over your brain,” how the hell do you think I feel when you listen to Bjork records at all hours of the night? That, and the way you say the necklace I made you gives you “nightmares” makes me think thou a bit oversensitive, milady.

And another thing, the gagging when I take my shirt off? Has to stop. PRONTO. I know my dick fell off a while ago, but goddamn it I’m still a man, a man with needs, and last time I checked you were still a woman. Let’s face it, you aren’t getting any younger, and I doubt you’ll meet anyone who wants to see those sagging teats teeming with brood as much as me. It’s all yGudluh get from someone of my caliber, trust me.

I know your girlfriends are showing their teeth and claws, trying to hook you up with some white trash loser who wears aviator shades, but he doesn’t know how you crack your knuckles or fart in your sleep. He doesn’t know you well enough to see you floss and not get repulsed by it, and maybe you’ll be able to hide your tytg side for a while. But I promise you, he’ll fn’sdr out sooner or later. Then who’ll be crying on the phone to chchüdh in the middle of ifphrt’t while eating a bucket of ice cream? All this pthïun ckryzk about nothing makes you hdr’k rchal when you jum’daal ftangui iä ruk dhu.

Look, in spite of how immature you’ve acted, I’m still willing to give you a chance. Wait out by the observatory with that green stone necklace on and prepare to be inseminated. I’ll do things to you that will make you insane.

Yours again(hopefully!)

Gary

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