First of all, just let me say this has been an amazing year. I've really enjoyed getting to know you better. I'm sure that years from now I will look back fondly on all the good times we shared together. The town halls, the pressers, the photo ops. My gosh, who knew the human jaw was capable of such feats of endurance! You're truly one of a kind, Hillary. I mean that. I really do.
But Hillary, that's not why I'm writing today. I'm writing because, despite all those memories, and despite how much I sort of respect you, the truth is that...well...I'm just not that into you.
I've been trying to find a way to tell you, Hillary. I tried to slip you a hint in Connecticut, and Georgia, and Missouri, and Utah. One time in Illinois, I screamed out "I'm in love with somebody else!" but you probably couldn't hear me over the traffic noise.
Which brings me to my next point. I'm been seeing somebody else. A black guy. I don't tell you this to make you jealous (I know how you get when you're jealous) but because I'm hoping you'll understand, and give our relationship the respect and space it needs to blossom. He's really special, Hillary. He's a once-in-a-lifetime find, I know it in my big, gay heart. I hope someday you find somebody that makes you as happy as he makes me.
In the end, Hillary, what I want you to know most is that I'm not breaking up with you because of the compulsive lying (keeps me on my toes!), or the way you like to change the rules in the middle of the game every time we play Monopoly, or because of your annoying habit of racist dogwhistling (old fashioned!), or because of that funny smell your hair has or the way you pick your nose at traffic lights (cute!). Your quirks make you who you are and I don't want to change you.
No, in the end, Hillary, the explanation is really simple. I'm not that into you. It's just a chemistry thing.
So, all that said, I have one parting request. Please stop. I've seen you standing on my stoop in the rain at five in the morning. It's kind of crazy. I know you called my cell phone 107 times last night; my phone stores that information. Did you think I was going to pick up on the 107th try? And I'm pretty sure it was you who wrote "I'm not giving up you motherfuckers!" on my car windshield in peanut butter.
Hillary, that's just crazy behavior. It's over. Can't you see that? I'm not that into you.
Somewhere out there, somebody is, or will be. I'm sure of it. Heck, I'm sure the Senate would love to have you as Majority Leader! He'd be lucky. Lucky indeed.
I hope you understand, Hillary. If not, please know that I've taken the precaution of changing my cell phone number, installing motion detectors and flood lights around my dwelling, and waxing my car with a special skin irritant. I didn't want to have to take these steps, but you forced my hand.
All the best, Hillary, and really: thanks for the good times.