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Dearest Ann,

What are you doing?  When I told you, via the Blackberry you bought me, that we had to cool things off, you called me every five minutes.  You stalked my work.  You sent me your underwear that you wore on Hannity & Colmes. 

What can I say to you, my darling?  This is all my fault.  I should have been more specific that it was just that weekend.  Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful.  The sun glistening off your perfect Mystic Tan.  Twilight strolls down the halls of PNAC, praying Kristol wouldn’t rear his fat head.  The way your Adam’s apple bobs up and down as you spout hateful, yet crafty, diatribes about those whores – the 9/11 widows. 

Your mouth, when you’re not using it for talking, is amazing.  The way you use it – your pout, your smirks, those cocky little up-turned pauses you make between ill-timed remarks.  Your breasts, two shrinking raisins smuggled across the border by illegal immigrants, brush your training bra like a boy’s nipples.  Your knees, masculine yet boyish, knob together as you strut your stuff.  Yes, it drove me crazy.  I couldn’t take it.

It was beautiful, Ann.  But it was fleeting, and we knew it couldn’t last.

I was hurt by our last conversation.  You tried to emotionally blackmail me by suggesting you’d end it all if I broke it off.  I didn’t believe you, and I admit I said some hurtful things. 

Boo:  Ann, if you kill yourself you still won’t be dating me!  That won’t really solve our problems now, will it?!

You:  If I kill myself, I won’t put in a good word for you with Maher, and you’ll be a second-rate liberal blogger for the rest of your liberal little life!

We hung up on each other.  We disconnected, physically, mentally, and emotionally.  And now, to get back at me, you use homosexual slurs to get my attention.  It hurts, Ann, because you and I know what we had was special, even though it had to end.

Words can hurt, Ann!  You’ve hurt me!  I admit it!  Isn’t that what you wanted to hear all along???  I hurt you; you hurt me back.  There.  It’s done.  Just don’t bring the entire political realm, all gay and lesbian people, and the John Edwards campaign into our lover’s quarrel.  It’s embarrassing, and it’s beneath you. 

My dear Ann … it’s all so very much beneath you …

We’ll always have PNAC and the beautiful memories we made. 

All my love,

Your Pookie BooBear