I just wanted you to know that I never liked you anyway. You may have sensed that there was some tension between us from time to time. But that is understating what I really felt. I never liked you.
Behind your back, I often made fun of your weight despite your never having a weight problem. "Fat skanky house pig," I would say when people would ask me how you were doing. Other times, just to mix it up, I would say, "Anorexic prudish tit mouse." It didn't matter if I made fat jokes or skinny jokes. I just plain didn't like you.
I once accused you of cheating at a game of sock drawer checkers. And later added that only a true bastard would cheat at sock drawer checkers. But I think we both know that we never played sock drawer checkers. And I suspect that sock drawer checkers isn't even a real game. I only said that to people because I never liked you anyway.
Or how about the time I handed you a glass of orange juice. You took a sip and I laughed and laughed as I admitted that I had mixed urine into it. And you drank it. Ha ha! You told me to that I was acting childish. But what you didn't know was that the urine WAS from a child even though it wasn't. The joke is again on you. I never liked you.
Usually when I would badmouth you, people would ask why. They couldn't understand how I could harbor such hard feelings towards what they viewed as a decent human being. I suppose I could have told them why, but just because I didn't like you, I would lie. I accused you of not washing your hands before you washed your hands. That's always been an imaginary pet peeve of mine. And I explained to them that I don't trust people who use finger puppets as weight lifting gloves. And just to rub in my dislike for you, I liked to say you admitted to naming your nipples "Loggins and Mussina" even though you don't have nipples or even know who Loggins and Mussina is.
Sometimes I dream of macing you down in a crowded bar. But then in my dream, you take my mace and put a little behind your ear and say how nice it smells. Then you hand me a wicker basket that turns out to have a miniature Aretha Franklin in it and she maces me in the groin with flat ginger ale. I wake up liking you even less.
I'm sorry; I've just never liked you.
