Faded Boxers

Good day my friend,

I’m sorry to have to tell it to you this way, but I don’t think we can hang out together anymore. I know that this may come as a shock to you considering we’ve had nothing but laughs in the three weeks that we’ve been roomies, but to be perfectly honest with you, things haven’t been going so great between us.

From the very first moment that we’ve met, I knew that we were going to get along fine judging from the way you didn’t kill me onsite the way you killed your other potential roommates who made the mistake asking you “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” It is due to my awareness that ninjas aren’t much talkers that not only was I able to escape with my life that day, I’ve also made a friend.

Everything went well for the next few days. I’d teach you how to play badminton and how to speak. And you would teach me the vast benefits of comfortable silences. I however thought that it was too much when you decapitated the bully who was making fun of my knee high socks at the gym; but since nobody decided to press charges, plus the fact that you disappeared in a puff of smoke while benchpressing 300 lbs., I guess it was no biggie.

Things started to take a turn for the worse when I talked you into getting a Friendster account. I did that to help develop your social skills, and not to set you up for the emotional trauma that was to follow. You insisted that the reason why nobody added you was because “ninjas aren’t allowed to have their picture put on Friendster.”

This is not a picture of a Ninja.

When I pointed out that everyone of your friends all met with tragical “ninja star-related” accidents when you were still a recovering sake-holic, and are in no position to “Friendster you;” you didn’t take it pretty well. Even though you cut the computer monitor in half, you quickly offered to have it replaced. You even promised to remove “I can snap your neck like a twig” from your Friendster profile which I thought was a very big step for you.

And the time when you had your dance troupe over to practice while my buddies and I were watching the game really put a lot of strain on our friendship.

I especially didn’t like the way you got back at Bill for doubting your sexuality. You should understand that he had a lot to drink that day, and would otherwise not have shown any disrespect for you or your clan. He wouldn’t have even pointed out that your group didn’t have the “freshest moves”, and that you would surely “get served” by that other clan from the other suburb.

My apologies go out to my Buddy Bill. May he find a way to get his cock out of his nose.

From then on, I would find glass shards in my cereal, or would realize that you were hanging from the ceiling while I was taking a bath. I took all these in stride because I knew that we would soon find a way to work out our differences. I still believed that we would be able to work it out even when a “Can Not - Can Too” argument ended with you hunting down all of the rats in the house and breaking their necks with your little finger.

However, I decided that maybe this wasn’t going to work when you amputated my girlfriend’s arm just to see if the bracelet she was wearing wasn’t your lost ninja star. You could have simply asked her instead of drugging her, stringing up from the ceiling, and cut off her limb with one clean swoop.

So there it is. Because of irreconcilable differences, I have decided to move out. Don’t worry about the rent, I have taken the liberty of leaving you with a whole year’s worth of advance payment. I hope that this discourages you from “hunting me down no matter where I am and forcing me to watch my whole family eat shit and die before the sweet kiss of death releases me from this pathetic excuse I call my life” as you would often mutter in your sleep.

Also, I hope you understand if I respectfully decline from being listed as one of your character references.

I also took the liberty of cutting off my own finger and attaching it with this letter just to make sure that all’s well between us.