Dear Tickle Me Elmo,

You're just a slut, aren't you? You seem so innocent, you seem so carefree and young and giving of your no-restrictions, no-qualifications, childish love. But actually, you're sitting there in your little box - your cardboard equivalent of your street corner - selling your body.

And then you wriggle, and simper, and declare that you "love" me. How am I supposed to take that? How am I supposed to believe you, when I've seen you say precisely the same thing to the person before me?

I'm living my life in perpetual agony, expecting betrayal every moment, seeing it lurking in your guileless eyes. Do you really love me? Or are you going to leave me for that cute blond toddler? I'm getting too old, aren't I? Losing my girlish figure. Starting to get demanding. It's so hard when you don't change, you never change. I wanted us to grow old together, but you...

Well, look at you! Your fur is still as red as it ever was! You don't even have wrinkles! Why not? You're always laughing, or grinning. You and your fucking cheery disposition. You don't take anything seriously! And every time I try to talk it through, you just put me off with endless declarations of love. What an idiot; I fall for it every time!

I just... oh god. I just don't think I can take it any more. I'm sorry, Elmo. It's over.

Overcaffinated in the toy aisle,
- Dee