Dear B.M.G. Music Service Collection Department
I’m writing to acknowledge your recent slew of threatening letters and ominous-sounding messages left on my answering machine. I was in my apartment during most of your calls but I’ve been checking the Caller ID box because I really didn’t want to do this over the phone, so I nervously scraped the side of my thumb with my index finger while your voice took to tape.
Just so you know it wasn’t you. It’s sad but sometimes these things don’t work out, and I don’t think there’s anything we can do to salvage ‘us’.
I thought Devo’s greatest hits at $9.98 was a deal, but then you loaded on shipping charges and it turns out I only wanted three songs; then I was at the bar and it came down to You or three gin & tonics. I was tipsy, but that’s no excuse, we both know.
When I failed to reply to that sweet note you sent, you express mailed me the new Britney Spears album. You’re so thoughtful, so anticipating, but I think you think I’m someone different than I truly am. You’re the best, you know that, but the sparks aren’t there any more.
In your last letter you asked for $68.54, but let’s end it without petty squabbling or mind-games. I got something out of our relationship, and I hope you did too. We had some good times, doll, but it’s over.
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