A "Dear John" Letter

Farewell, my squadron leader!

Dear Sam,

I am writing you to break it off. I no longer love you. Why, you ask? Because you’re never there for me, always “out of stock.” Sure, you say it’s not your fault, that your Fred Flintstone factory can only churn out so much product, but I ain’t buying it. Just how many shifts are you running anyway? You know, you could make some new old equipment. Perhaps some of those Sealed Knot fellows could help you. But no, you’ll just limp along, like always.
You know what? I think you just like the attention. You want to be fetishized by all those naïve young things who think you’re the best thing since Esoterica (another Keebler Elf outfit). Well, I’ll tell you mister, there’s tobaccos out there just as good. Some of them even better.
Sure, I’ll miss your Golden Glow, but it’s just not worth it. I hope, one day, that you’ll step into, at least, the 19th century and get a little more productive, but I just can’t wait around any longer.
Don’t try and call, I’ve met others, fellows named Mac, Cornell, and Rudiger who bring me quite a lot of satisfaction, thank you very much. I’m sorry it had to happen this way.

Regrets,

Yours No Longer.