It's Not Me, It's You

God, I didn't want to have to do this but you leave me little choice. I'm just not the sort of girl to sit around and be played*. You were such a good catch too - handsome, witty, great job, sharp suits, part Italian, delightful hair, best mates with Gary Sinise, only moderately emotionally damaged; I wanted it to work out so badly. You even used to show up on time for our dates. Week after week, you never let me down, loyal like a labrador...until now. Where the fuck are you? Don't be giving me all that "series ended" crap; if you loved me, you'd find a way to be back in my bedroom once a week. And no, don't think you can just show up again like last time and expect me to take you back. Actually, thinking about it; it hasn't always been a bed of roses, has it? I always turned a blind eye to those other women and you're unwillingness to process crime scenes in the nude. It's is over. Farewell, TV boyfriend, farewell.

P.S Tell Gary Sinise I send my love.

P.P.S I'm even going to stop calling myself Mrs Detective Danny Messer in the CSI Forums. Seriously. That's how much you've pissed me off.

P.P.P.S I may consider taking you back as long as you a) promise to stop fooling around with that Lindsay whore from Montana and b) take your shirt off every week. MAY.