A little late

I may be about 3 months late on this letter, but as everyone knows I never get over stuff and I love to surf the net. So here's my ode to my last pitiful relationship courtesy of the break-up letter genarator.

Dear Dave;
Not a day passes that you don't tell me how important I am or how much you love me, but those are just words. What I need are actions that convey how you can't live without me and would do anything to keep me. I need someone shit-house, loony-bin, arsonist crazy about me-- willing to do anything and everything to keep me. Dave, that's just not you. While it does feel like you love me, it's not a smothering, obsessive, borderline psychotic love. Its more of an unneurotic, trusting, agape love with luke-warm infatuation at best. There's no jealousy, no vindicitiveness, no sense of possession. For christ sake, you haven't even given me a cell phone so you can call me when you need something important--like knowing where I am all the time. Trust is nice, but is paranoia too much to ask in a relationship?
Honestly, Dave, in the 2 weeks that we have been together, how many times have you bashed a beer bottle over the head of some asshole who made eye contact with me or accidentally brushed against me as they passed? Or peppersprayed an overfriendly sales clerk? I'll tell you how many times--the same number of times you carved my name into your arms with a razor blade and got it tatooed in cursive on your neck---none. You never talk of ending your life in a world without me. Sure, you'd probably cry over it, be heartbroken for a month, but that's not good enough. The guy for me would call, start crying and begging to get back together. When that didn't work he'd threaten me, immediately apologize, and offer me money, jewelry, or anything else I wanted to get back with him. When, I still rebuffed this dream guy of mine he'd turn suicidal and explain to how he was going to kill himself. I would half-heartedly talk him out of it, at which point he'd blame it all on me. Finally, he'd keep repeating how he didn't need me, loudly curse me for being so worthless then hang up on me. The next day he would call, and we'd do it all over again. I'm not asking you to kill yourself if you lose me, but a half-hearted effort of washing a package of Dexatrim down with a bottle of Nyquil so you at least have to get your stomach pumped would be a nice gesture.
Sure, sure, you're caring, sweet, devoted, honest and loyal. Those are fine and all, but pathological is what I need. Someone who'd literally kill themself if they could no longer be with me; after they killed me that is. So, I must break up with you. The sad thing is, in a month's time, I probably won't catch you trying to follow me, you probably won't call me 122 times a day and hang up as soon as I answer, and you definetly won't mail me a package containing a dead animal and a picture of your dick with the phrase, "love is death and death is love" meticoulusly and randomly written all over it. Jesus, Dave, you just dont get it do you? Sure, every girl unthinkingly says she wants a Romeo, but this Juliet needs hers to do his part to bring Act 5 Scene 3 to its conclusion.

Adieu,
Preet


P.S. I can't get into specifics, but get yourself some penicillin and Gold Bond.