Ever since photos of you and what sure looks like your girlfriend surfaced on the Internet, I've been having doubts about our relationship. Perhaps if we had ever actually met, things would be different. Nonetheless, I can't go on like this, and though I will always be willing to put you up for a night or two when you're in town to play the Red Sox, I'm afraid the wedding is off.
You see, I've found somebody else.
Sure, he might have a history of drug abuse. And yeah, he isn't as fast on the basepaths, can't steal thrity-plus bases a year, and doesn't have quite the toned ass to show for it. But he's got tattoos, and a crazy look in his eye, and unlike some people, he can hit .300 for an entire season. His name is Josh.
And he only hits because he loves.
Anyhow, I'll never forget how I drafted you early in every fantasy baseball league last year, only for you to justify my pick with a 30-30 campaign. We'll always have that. But it's time for us to move on.
You go back to your girlfriend, and I'll carry on with Josh. The boy's a freak. Sometimes, we even bring in a midget, just to spice things up. I'm happy now.
Please... try to understand.