Thursday, February 11, 2010

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

Dear Jameson,

Look, it’s just not working out between us. This has gone on way too long. It’s my fault. Really, it is. I’m willing to accept the blame. Every time I think I'm done with you, I come back again.

But the thing is, I have to stand up for myself. I just can’t do this anymore. It’s not worth it. Sure, you make me feel good about myself at first, but then you just leave me. And leave me feeling like shit. The headache is not worth it anymore. I think it’s best if we just accept this for what it was—a fling. You’re not offering me what I really need. I need someone that’s going to be there for me. Frankly, you just use me whenever it’s convenient for you.

I deserve better. Besides, you’re such a player. I see you, flirting with everyone else at the bar. I can’t compete with that. And I shouldn’t have to compete with that. You never even care that I'm sitting right there! I see what you're doing.

Enough is enough. We're over. I break up.

I'll always love you,


  1. Your first mistake was drinking Jameson in the first place.

  2. And what do you recommend, dear? Jim Beam? Again, I say: WOOF.

  3. Sure, Jim Beam costs about half as much! Makers costs the same. Bushmills costs the same. Laphroaig costs about ten dollars more a bottle.

    So there we are: Bourbon, Irish, Scotch. The world's your oyster, Al.