Break-up letter

[MommyOf4Boys]

I'm leaving you because only yesterday you ate the last of my brand new hampster Jack's cage liner paper. You didn't even bother brushing your teeth after eating, and before kissing my sister's boyfriend's aunt who stole my last boyfriend by cooking him delicious apple body paint, which she painted on the cieling.

Anyway, I digress. We decided not to have any pets because of your stupid allergy to furbies and other fuzzy figments of your imagination forevermore also known as farting of the brain - something you became aware of back in 1927 when you fell on a guitar. The guitar that you stole from Lynard Skynard, before their herpes outbreak became public and the chickens got blamed.

I really despise you and your purple PJs with the bottom cutout, who knows why, when you just wet the sheets last week whilst counting the number of teeth lost during your Oyster sexing exam. It's no wonder you have psychotic episodes. Maybe your Prozac pills were flushed away when you dream of chocolate covered snails out of the darkest pit of my childhood.

Let me turn now towards that unreasonable, freaky request you made while ducking under the covers last night. Honestly, what were you thinking?

It isn't enough that you feel that you have to argue with robert the garden gnome and steal his underwear while i water the plastic flowers that are growing from your fungal womanhood.

Speaking of which, you may recall my cream that you borrowed to remove the hair from that particular area, you know, the back. I'm afraid that you got it all over my best friend's favourite chia-pet that I was using to clean your butt hairs out of the frying pan of doom when Gandalf the grey haired Slurpee vendor came out of the closet, don't you? That cream cost upwards of 2,000 marlboro miles that i and shadowfax refuse to come to your house to force you to pay back at last. The final hour has arrived.

I must return this blouse that got stained when we spent that week in that fire station and the ghostbusters ripped my Favorite MC Hammer Poster. Why did i ever let you take pictures of otters? You are superteds spotty arsed friend whom we all call upon when we need plastic bullets for space.

Regardless, I just can't forget the time you spanked my yak with hot buttered dinner rolls. I miss those days. We always went to look for captain planet's polkadotted underwear where no one could see or hear us as we quickly tore open the box of Cherry Pop-Tarts. You were obviously looking for attention when you jumped on that defenseless old lady who happened to be off her face on darjeeling and peach schnapps.

And why on Earth did your monkeys take all of my best slash metal love songs sung by the partridge family on united Cristian broadcasting? You know I can't take photos of otters because mr potato head loves you and not robert your mothers brother, even though he's terribly tall and he once kissed a girraff but he had bad breath,you!!not the girraff obviously, because I never

 

[boris152]

I'm leaving you because only yesterday you ate the last of my brand new hampster Jack's cage liner paper. You didn't even bother brushing your teeth after eating, and before kissing my sister's boyfriend's aunt who stole my last boyfriend by cooking him delicious apple body paint, which she painted on the cieling.

Anyway, I digress. We decided not to have any pets because of your stupid allergy to furbies and other fuzzy figments of your imagination forevermore also known as farting of the brain - something you became aware of back in 1927 when you fell on a guitar. The guitar that you stole from Lynard Skynard, before their herpes outbreak became public and the chickens got blamed.

I really despise you and your purple PJs with the bottom cutout, who knows why, when you just wet the sheets last week whilst counting the number of teeth lost during your Oyster sexing exam. It's no wonder you have psychotic episodes. Maybe your Prozac pills were flushed away when you dream of chocolate covered snails out of the darkest pit of my childhood.

Let me turn now towards that unreasonable, freaky request you made while ducking under the covers last night. Honestly, what were you thinking?

It isn't enough that you feel that you have to argue with robert the garden gnome and steal his underwear while i water the plastic flowers that are growing from your fungal womanhood.

Speaking of which, you may recall my cream that you borrowed to remove the hair from that particular area, you know, the back. I'm afraid that you got it all over my best friend's favourite chia-pet that I was using to clean your butt hairs out of the frying pan of doom when Gandalf the grey haired Slurpee vendor came out of the closet, don't you? That cream cost upwards of 2,000 marlboro miles that i and shadowfax refuse to come to your house to force you to pay back at last. The final hour has arrived.

I must return this blouse that got stained when we spent that week in that fire station and the ghostbusters ripped my Favorite MC Hammer Poster. Why did i ever let you take pictures of otters? You are superteds spotty arsed friend whom we all call upon when we need plastic bullets for space.

Regardless, I just can't forget the time you spanked my yak with hot buttered dinner rolls. I miss those days. We always went to look for captain planet's polkadotted underwear where no one could see or hear us as we quickly tore open the box of Cherry Pop-Tarts. You were obviously looking for attention when you jumped on that defenseless old lady who happened to be off her face on darjeeling and peach schnapps.

And why on Earth did your monkeys take all of my best slash metal love songs sung by the partridge family on united Cristian broadcasting? You know I can't take photos of otters because mr potato head loves you and not robert your mothers brother, even though he's terribly tall and he once kissed a girraff but he had bad breath,you!!not the girraff obviously, because I never heard one hand clapping

 

[chris82]

I'm leaving you because only yesterday you ate the last of my brand new hampster Jack's cage liner paper. You didn't even bother brushing your teeth after eating, and before kissing my sister's boyfriend's aunt who stole my last boyfriend by cooking him delicious apple body paint, which she painted on the cieling.

Anyway, I digress. We decided not to have any pets because of your stupid allergy to furbies and other fuzzy figments of your imagination forevermore also known as farting of the brain - something you became aware of back in 1927 when you fell on a guitar. The guitar that you stole from Lynard Skynard, before their herpes outbreak became public and the chickens got blamed.

I really despise you and your purple PJs with the bottom cutout, who knows why, when you just wet the sheets last week whilst counting the number of teeth lost during your Oyster sexing exam. It's no wonder you have psychotic episodes. Maybe your Prozac pills were flushed away when you dream of chocolate covered snails out of the darkest pit of my childhood.

Let me turn now towards that unreasonable, freaky request you made while ducking under the covers last night. Honestly, what were you thinking?

It isn't enough that you feel that you have to argue with robert the garden gnome and steal his underwear while i water the plastic flowers that are growing from your fungal womanhood.

Speaking of which, you may recall my cream that you borrowed to remove the hair from that particular area, you know, the back. I'm afraid that you got it all over my best friend's favourite chia-pet that I was using to clean your butt hairs out of the frying pan of doom when Gandalf the grey haired Slurpee vendor came out of the closet, don't you? That cream cost upwards of 2,000 marlboro miles that i and shadowfax refuse to come to your house to force you to pay back at last. The final hour has arrived.

I must return this blouse that got stained when we spent that week in that fire station and the ghostbusters ripped my Favorite MC Hammer Poster. Why did i ever let you take pictures of otters? You are superteds spotty arsed friend whom we all call upon when we need plastic bullets for space.

Regardless, I just can't forget the time you spanked my yak with hot buttered dinner rolls. I miss those days. We always went to look for captain planet's polkadotted underwear where no one could see or hear us as we quickly tore open the box of Cherry Pop-Tarts. You were obviously looking for attention when you jumped on that defenseless old lady who happened to be off her face on darjeeling and peach schnapps.

And why on Earth did your monkeys take all of my best slash metal love songs sung by the partridge family on united Cristian broadcasting? You know I can't take photos of otters because mr potato head loves you and not robert your mothers brother, even though he's terribly tall and he once kissed a girraff but he had bad breath,you!!not the girraff obviously, because I never heard one hand clapping the power rangers as