"I’ve met someone. She also likes CPR training dogs, and that's why I'm leaving you. Get it through your thick deformed monkey skull.  I'm gone.  Once I walk out that door I don’t want to hear another word from you. Ever. Don't call me. Don't email me. We’re done. And that means you don't relay messages to me through your sister (who I'm not sleeping with, you jealous moron) or Doug from the office. I will report you to the police if I see you in the drive-thru line at my job. You can keep the books and the CDs we bought together. It’s a small price to pay for the hole you put in my soul. Not like Nick Cave’s “Murder Ballads” or Cormac McCarthy’s “Border Trilogy” is going to fill that up and make me a complete person again. Find some other sucker to make miserable.  You know what else?  500 years from now, we meet in another life, just keep walking."
--Howard M.  Daytona, FL