I just got your voicemail saying that it was over. Or as you put it, so delicately crafted in metaphor, "I'm a (noun) and you're a (noun), and sometimes (pl nouns) come by and make you notice (pl noun) that weren't so clear before. Basically, I don't believe that I'm in love anymore." Really? You're a (noun)? Because I'd say you're more of a cunt.
So I'm writing you this letter on my (piece of funiture). The one that I fucked you on and you cried. And I'm listening to (musician) on repeat. You once told me his voice sounds like a squawking (type of bird) but I think it sounds like the depths of human sorrow. Listening to (musician) allows me to imagine myself (adverb) running naked and scarred through a field of dead (pl flower), or being paralyzed below the (body part), naked and scarred and bound to a hospital bed. Both sound pretty (adj) right now.
I left the keys under the (noun) so whenever you want to pick up your things, just come by. Just call first and leave a voicemail. You know how much I love to hear your voice, husky and weathered by beer and cocks and parties and cocks and (noun) and cocks. You sad, sad, sad, (adjective), aging, tragic, desperate, pathetic tramp. And if you change your mind and want to talk about this, I'll be at Jamba Juice, working on my screenplay.
Whenever you quote (Reese Witherspoon movie) I want to murder (Reese Witherspoon). And that's unfortunate because Pleasantville was decent. Like that part with the bathtub and Jeff Daniels. That was solid.
Remember that time you thought you were pregnant because you had really bad diarrhea? But then it turned out just to be really bad diarrhea? (That was funny). That wasn't a mad lib, just a continuation of the thread on your diarrhea.
I guess I should've seen it coming. Ever since that day at the (location), when you asked me what I was thinking about and I said (obscure 1980's cartoon) and you proceeded to accuse me of being (adjective) and (adjective), I knew it probably wouldn't last. Maybe it's because I'm a (occupation) and you're a (occupation). Or maybe it's because I'm a (zodiac sign) and you're a (zodiac sign). Or it could be because I'm both a (occupation) and a (zodiac sign) and you're an self-professed amalgamation of (female character from Friends) and (female character from Sex and the City), but without the wit and self-esteem. Good-bye forever. Unless you want to meet me at Jamba Juice.
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Dear (female name),
How much you love your friends Intensity of arguments over shotgun rules Bladder pressure Hilarity of mooning Number of friends willing to play Mad Libs with you Time remaining until friends discover …