I only dated you to see what it was like to date a tough guy. I should have seen the red flags—maybe all the photos (over 50 of them) of the blown-apart guys you killed in Iraq on your laptop should have been one of them. Thank God I woke the fuck up when I did. It's crazy to think that I fooled myself into thinking that good sex could mean love. It's been six months since we've broken up, but you still call every two weeks to cry to me that your 18-year-old cream puff of a girlfriend is boring you sexually and can we meet up to have sex? Boo hoo. That poor girl doesn't know what she's gotten herself into. I just want to move on, so stop calling. I can see why your ex-wife left you while you were out of town and had an abortion. Now, to take a cue from OJ, I didn't have an abortion right before we broke up, but if I HAD, I would have pranced my ass into a clinic to scrape your trash genes from my uterus in order to prevent the possibility of having my babies get your Uncle Fester–esque features. It was always really cute to see your thinly veiled pride whenever you would talk about your largely successful sniper career. It's just a shame you didn't get the same treatment those guys on your laptop did.