Dear Kim,
I don't really know how to tell you this, but I'm selling myself for candy. I think I realized it when we skinny dipped in the bathtub at the Elton John concert and I saw you pull the pants off of my illegitimate child in Ghana. I'm sure you're slutty enough to understand that I get turned on only by garbage men. I'm returning our matching snoopy underwear to you, but I'll keep the results of that blood-sample as a memory. You should also know that I told my psychiatrist about the bruises and that your cucumber-fetishism is weird.
Best of luck on the sex change,
Nancy
MAKE YOUR OWN
Dear (pick one of your friends),
I don't real