edited by ANDREW HICKS
creatively conceived by ALLISON STEIN
Dear Ex: You were not as attractive as I led you to believe.
Dear Ex: Thanks for all the child support. You’re not her father.
Dear Ex: I feel like I can tell you now — you don’t have to pray about EVERYthing. Pretty sure you’ve got the green light from the Almighty if you wanna have a popsicle.
Dear Ex: I’d undercook your meat sometimes.
Dear Ex: I still laugh my ass off that the guy you married after me turned out to be huuuuuugely gay. Not mature, but funny as hell.
Dear Ex: Weekday daddy busted a jizzload on your side of the bed.
Dear Ex: I made out with your mom more than I made out with you. And she was better at it. But that’s no secret.
Dear Ex: Remember how I said you were the best sex I ever had? The only orgasms I ever had during our marriage were the ones I gave myself. Thanks for nothing. Love, Me.
Dear Ex: I could tell you were not a habitual marijuana smoker when we got high and you spent the next two hours scratching down your entire body while singing a song called “Itchy Time.”
Dear Ex: Your brother used to try to have sex with me every time you weren’t home.
Dear Ex: I find it completely hilarious that I actually slept with more women than you did, and they were better in bed.
Dear Ex: I still get good laughs telling people how, every time you saw a stray dog or cat walking on the side of the road, you would stop the car, pull over, throw open the passenger side door and yell, “Go home! Go home! Go home, doggy! You have a home! Go there and be safe!”
Dear Ex: Your mother doesn’t love you. She told me once she wished you’d never been born.
Dear Ex: We might have worked out if we hadn’t been so hopelessly incompatible in bed. We made the best of it, but in all fairness, your squeaking noises during sex ruined the mood. Also, it would have helped if your dick stayed hard the whole time.
Dear Ex: Dental hygiene is important. Brush up!
Dear Ex: I used your toothbrush to clean the sink. Every time.
Dear Ex: I fucked a random Italian man the night before our wedding.
Dear Ex: Your hair is not growing back in. Not even a little, so stop spending the equivalent of the national deficit on Rogaine. You’re fucking bald.
Dear Ex: Remember that night you were so drunk, but you swore we had sex? We didn’t. I had sex with your best friend. You watched from a chair in the corner, holding your dick in your hand.
Dear Ex: If I’d known when I left that you’d become an evangelical Christian… nah, screw it, I still would have left.
Dear Ex: I appreciate you staying in contact with me for seven or eight years after I broke up with you, saying you always wanted to be friends. I do find it curious, however, that since you’ve married that doctor, I haven’t heard a single word.
CONTRIBUTORS: Allison Stein, Lola Tucker, Andrew Hicks, J.Miz, Tony Fyler, Woo