Disclaimer: Once again, I don't own anything, not even these pants.
Ravens Are Black...
Dear Bastard,
Well I hope you're proud of yourself. You couldn't keep you mouth shut, so now I'm stuck on a train cursing your name, both silently and not, until I'm blue in the face. You can't just shut your face and let things be. It's because I'm not one of your pretty bimbos isn't it? ("Al! What was that for?" "Bimbo isn't a very nice term to use Brother. I'm sure they are intelligent in their own way." "Whatev- Hey stop hitting me!") Well I regret to inform you that I am not some fluffy princess to be swept off my feet by smooth gestures and practiced phrases. I don't expect you to act that way, so why do you think I would?
"You have the emotional capacity of this stapler,"
What the fuck does that even mean? ("Brother, do you really think it wise to swear?" "It's my fucking letter Al!" "Well don't come crying to me when you get in trouble for your rudeness.") Is this all because I laughed at your joke? I mean, it had to be a joke. Men can't love each other. It's in the handbook. I like you a lot and the sex is fucking great. What more can two guys ask for? If you wanted love, romance and a happily ever after ending, you should have fucked a chick instead of me. ("Al, if you hit me one more time—" "I thought the purpose of this letter was to prove him wrong, not to prove him right. Really Brother, you need to get your thoughts in order before you write them down.")
But that's not why I wrote you this letter. Al says I need to be more romantic and shit like that. You said I couldn't if I tried. So here you go, you bastard. I hope you choke on the sap oozing off this love poem I wrote for you.
Ravens are black,
and the sky is blue.
These things out my window,
remind me of you.
Sincerely,
-I hate you.
Another odd collective piece from me to you. I got the idea from, well a number of places. The next letter will be a reply from Roy. They go back and forth.