Dear Kuu,

I don't really know how to tell you this, but our horoscope doesn't match. I think I realized it when I saw the shrunken head in women's clothing and I saw you ignore my mustard soufflé. I'm sure you're senile enough to understand that I get turned on by garbage men. I'm returning your ring to you, but I'll keep the oil stocks as a memory. You should also know that I get sick when I think of eggplant-fetishism.

Go burn,
Corissa.

(inspired by and and gathered from here. I don't care for tagging, this was just for the lulz.)