Goodbye Cruel Galaxy
The house was silent. She was gone. All she left behind was a Samsung Galaxy Note.
Dear Roger -
That's right, Roger. I'm calling you by your real name. I'm sorry, I just could never call you "Wolfrider" with a straight face. And I guess that's kind of why I'm writing this letter.
I can't stay with you anymore. It's over. Believe me, nobody wanted this to work more than I did. When I think of what I put up with - the all-night bōjutsu practice sessions in the backyard, the Klingon hip-hop, the fedoras, sweet Lord, the fedoras... finally, last night, when you wouldn't stop reading me your script for Monty Python Goes To Catan, I reached down into my well of patience and understanding and there was nothing left.
This Samsung Galaxy Note is my way of saying "I wish you the best as long as I never have to spend any time around you ever again." I would say I hope we can be friends, but I would be lying, and you've made your feelings on "the friend zone" very clear. Very, obnoxiously, abrasively clear.
Forget me, please -