Dear Abby C.,
Just in case you haven't figured this out, I hate you. As a person, I find you intolerable to be around for mass quantities of time. As a nemesis and straight man, I value you, if not for anything else. Now, I'm not calling you a heterosexual male. As I'm sure you don't know, a "straight man" in comedy is paired with a "funny man". The straight man starts the joke and the funny man tells the punch line and gets all the laughs. A famous "straight man/funny man" example is George Burns and Gracie Allen, respectively. All over the world, there are "straight men" like you walking around, inspiring "funny men" to be, well, funny. You are a part of an honorable class of people. You should be proud. However, that doesn't mean you're pleasant to be around.
There are four primary reasons why I hate you. Reason one, you are a child. Grow up. Reason two, you are so desperate for attention that you Facebook message people, asking them to like your profile picture. Have you sunk that low? Reason three, you are in a co-dependent relationship with Emily. It's weird. And four, you're just overall annoying.
Now, I'm going to briefly address number three. You spent your New Year's Eve playing third wheel to Emily and her boyfriend. Nobody likes a third wheel, and nobody likes being a third wheel. Why would you subject them and yourself to that? That's just wrong. You could've done a million other things. You could've gone to a party. You could've thrown a party. You could've just stayed home and had a nice dinner with your family. That's what I did. I stayed at home with my mom, sister, and step-dad. We had fondue, watched movies and had a grand old time. Two's a couple, three's a crowd. Should've stayed home.
Also, I want to discuss number one. As of the last time I saw you in person, which was middle school, so I'll cut you a small break there, you often wore your hair in pigtails, had a squeaky, high-pitched voice, which, obviously, you couldn't really control, and used words like "ewie". It wouldn't have surprised me to hear "I know you are, but what am I?" come out of your pouty, five-year-old-esqe mouth. I sincerely hope you've matured since then but honestly, I doubt it.
Now, odds are high you'll never read this. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not, but either way, I wanted it out there. I cannot tolerate you anymore. I attempted to remove you from my life, but you weaseled your way back in. Let me make this very clear. I don't want you around. I can't stand you. I hate you. Go away. Grow up. I hope somebody pops that little bubble you're in, and soon.