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Do-it-yourself   "Dear   John   Letter"

This is a very funny article I found in a 1979 MAD magazine. I have made it so it is easier to complete it.

--Love, Sarah



To (Type in their email address):
From (Your email):
Subject:
Dear ,

I don't know quite how to tell you this, but
our romance is over.
our affair is dead.
I'm entering a convent.
I loath you.
our hororscopes clash.
you are a sickie.
you need to bathe more.
I'm a street walker.
your nostrils offend me.
there's a contract out for you.
you're a schmuck.
I'm in love with your sister.

I think I first knew it
that night
last year
skinny dipping
tripping on tangerine seeds
last Arbor day
when you shackled me
when I threw up
when I saw that shrunken head
when your dwarf bit me
reciting "Gunga Din"
swapping tennis shoes
when your sheepdog went berserk

in your pad,
in your camper
outside Poughkeepsie,
under the bus,
in your closet,
while eating enchilladas,
with Reverend Moon,
in drag,
at the Hare Krishna prom,
on the funny farm,
in a trance,
with the Mondales,

and I saw you
make a pass at
insult
ignore
punch out
pour syrup over
carve your initials on
tear the clothes off
apply leeches to
render impotent
yank the toupee off
sit on
exersize

my best friend.
my father.
E.F. Hutton.
my whoopee cushion.
my spinach souffle.
Bert and Ernie.
my avocado plant.
my penpal in Ghana.
my Franklin Mint Collection.
the Oakland front four.
my Billy Carter statue.
that crazed monk.

I'm sure you're
man
sensitive
open-minded
ashamed
stoned
gutless
scarred
Mongol
masochistic
perverted
senile
Republican
frostbitten

enough to see
how miserable I've been.
what a bore you are.
your Datsun sucks.
your acne is terminal.
I've had a sex change.
there is no Mid-East solution.
we're first cousins.
there is no Santa Claus.
I'm allergic to your hamster.
I dig sanitation men.
that I'm bionic.
that "The Gong Show" stinks.

I'm returning
your ring,
your love letters,
your Darth Vader poster,
your pet rock,
to the commune,
those slides of Altoona,
your dentures,
to sleeping around,
our matching Snoopy bibs,
your Bicentennial truss,
to Saturn,
your bag of immies,

but I'm holding on to
your photo
those oil stocks
my virginity
your neighbor Ralph
the results of the blood test
your left ear
your suicide note
your mother
my sanity
your ant colony
your police record
Murray's leotards

as a keepsake. I want you to know that I'll
always treasure
never forget
try to blot out
inform the I.R.S. about
always feel unclean about
never scoff openly at
make a movie based on
tell the "Enquirer" about
inform the asylum about
get nauseous thinking of
tell my priest about
be a lot better off without

your
friendship.
senility.
new life as a clone.
Eskimo incarnation.
mom.
cocaine habit.
passion for fieldmice.
Jackie Mason imitations.
embarrassing rash.
eggplant fetish.
screwing up World War II.
hatred of Tampa.

Fondly,
Sincerely,
Painfully,
Eat your heart out,
with disgust,
with great relief,
Up yours,
Your undying enemy,
Best to your frog Leonard,
Now bug off,
Good luck on your parol,
Regards to your creepy family,



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