Dear family,
After much soul searching- and with the help of a bottle of malt liquor- I have decided to kill myself. I know I've always said that "you'll outlive me over my dead body," but circumstances have changed.
You might be sad about my impending death, but we both know it's for the best. There's no denying that I'm a lousy wife, mother, poker player, ventriloquist and type setter.
In fact, everything I touch turns to shit, which is why I haven't had sex with you in over 2 years. Well, that and the fact that I've been sleeping with your boss. And you still didn't get any promotions or bonuses.
I suppose that speaks volumes about my lovemaking skills, but I'm not too suprised. I blame the children. After birthing 7 babies, my vagina is like a worn out tire. Remember how the doctor delivered our last one? The obstrician held a catcher's mitt when I popped the baby out sideways.
I suppose I shouldn't say 'our' last baby, because he isn't yours. Since he's obviously black, I thought you'd figure that out. I guess not though, and I thought it would be best not to rock the boat.
In fact, I can't be 100% sure if you're the father of any of the kids. Maybe on some unconcious level you always suspected it and that's why you don't use their names. You just say, "Hey, dipshit".
That may be for the best, though. Looking back, I sort of regret naming the girls Cristal, Brandy, Chablis and Ginny and the boys Adolf, Vlad and Judas.
I fear this may have contributed to why the girls all working in the sex industry and why the boys are all in prison for murder.
Or it could be because of how I would always tell them they were adopted and then laugh and tell them I was just kidding. If children hear that everyday, I suppose it could warp them somewhat. That's just my unique sense of humor, but I still feel a little guilty for it.
Now, you may be wondering if I've got any haunting planned after I die. The answer is probably yes.
I don't think that I'll be going to heaven, which is okay since I've heard that there's a chronic shortage of chairs up there. And I flat out refuse to go to hell simply because so many people have told me to go there over the years. So it looks like I'll be hanging around for awhile.
As for what kind of ghost I'll be, I've decided I'm going to be the mischevious prankster type. I plan on hiding little things like your socks and other small items along with your insulin and heart medication. I may scratch and hit you occasionally just to mix things up.
I guess I should wrap things up by telling you that I've blown our savings and I've taken out cash loans on all of our credit cards because I've became addicted to buying ceramic birds on QVC. I'm leaving you with a debt of about $200,000.
Before I forget; please destroy all of my things. I don't want anyone else using them. Especially homeless people because they're gross.
See you soon!
