Hey Sniper! What’s shakin’? How is your second trip to the middle east to kill people? I didn’t really get to say goodbye before you signed that second contract with Blackwater and headed into battle. I guess I will just have to console myself with the memories we shared.

Like the day we met while you were a security guard at the meat market college bar that i had no business being at in the first place, and you threatened to kick that guy out that was drunk and following me around. It seemed quite chivalrous until i figured out you were just picking a fight with someone, anyone. And how about that awkward first date when you announced that you were a professional hitman for the US government, shortly after saying you “hate Ay-rabs” in your southern drawl? So romantic. I wanted to kiss your professionally whitened smile, if only to stop you from continuing your litany of racist terms referring to mexicans, koreans, and of course middle easterners. I wonder what you say about women when you aren’t on a date with one.

Its a shame your relentless ego-maniacally man grooming interfered with our getting to know each other better…. lasik eye surgery, nightly gym runs, not to mention frequent trips to the tanning salon and the mall to buy expensive clothes and a brand new Hummer all cut into our cuddle time. I”m glad that the government is paying you well though… it was initially surprising to me that you would spend money so freely, until you told me your odds of perishing on your next mission were 1 in 10 in your line of work. Guess you can’t take it with you, right?

Eventually though, i couldn’t deal with the guilt of being taken out to dinner on the blood money you received from killing women and children, er…. terrorists… abroad. That, and when i eventualy did see you naked, it was obvious that YOUR gun would not fit in MY gun rack. I told my friends you had a scary rape stick. Sorry, you just can’t fit twenty pounds of potatoes in a ten pound sack. What’s the story on that… did you expose your genitals to radiation or something? Maybe you need a six foot tall Samoan woman, although i doubt you would care for the color of her skin.

Eagerly awaiting your return,
the yellow ribbon ’round the old oak tree