Break-up letter

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 they grey haired Slurpee vendor came
 
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 they grey haired Slurpee vendor came out of the closet
 
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 they grey haired Slurpee vendor came out of the closet, don't you? That cream
 
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 they grey haired Slurpee vendor came out of the closet, don't you? That cream cost upwards of 2,000
 
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 they grey haired Slurpee vendor came out of the closet, don't you? That cream cost upwards of 2,000 Marlboro miles that I
 
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 they 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
 
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 they 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
 
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 they 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







(this letter is HILARIOUS...I should print it and send it to my now ex bf! :lol: )
 
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 they 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
 
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 they 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
 
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
 
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
 
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
 
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 ........ ........ ... .......... ........
 
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
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Remember September 11, 2001

< Previous Thread

One of those mornings!

Next Thread >

Most reactions

Similar threads

V
My 2023 Projects and My Plans for 2024
Replies
4
Views
379
VidThreeNorth
V
snowbear
March 2024 Photo of the Month Nominations
Replies
11
Views
622
terri
terri
snowbear
January 2024 Photo of the Month Nominations
Replies
6
Views
408
snowbear
snowbear
snowbear
February 2024 Photo of the Month Nominations
Replies
14
Views
553
snowbear
snowbear
snowbear
December 2023 Photo of the Month Nominations
Replies
8
Views
439
CherylL
CherylL

New Topics

TPF Gallery Photos

Elephant pair
Evelyn and Mommy
[No title]
[No title]
Closer
[No title]
Resting Excavators
10904-_CH25785
Galilee
10847-gc004
1846-IMG_1123
Sea of Galilee
Back
Top