Dear Jack,
I always believed that we shared something special. Your word was gospel to my ears, and when you were upset, I was upset. When you cried, I cried. When you had to dial 1-800-CORRECTAMOFO, I handed you the phone. But then you left me. You didn’t even say good-bye.
Initially, I was hurt, angry and confused, but I realized that I was still young, and there were people to meet. After waiting for you to return, for oh so long, I decided to see other people -
– on our “date night.” Granted, they aren’t you, and I’m fairly certain most of them do drugs. But I’ve grown fond of them all the same.
And now, you want to reenter my life, the night before my birthday no less, with promises that you’ll come back, and things will be the same. You’re returning on the eve of my birthday, no less, thinking that you can pull my sentimental heart strings. Hmph…we’ll see.
Yours Questionably,
Black…Mamba
PS – What’s up with the white girl as president. Why yall keep killing off the brothers? Not cool.
