Dear "For something that's supposed to be a fling, it sure looks like a lot of work" Summer Fling Boy:
I'm sure that you remember this past summer, when we dated and everything was sweet and smiley and happy exciting kitten streamers of colorful fun. I'm sure, then, that you'll also remember how, just as things were really starting to sizzle, you took the petty amateur magician's route and pulled off the kind of disappearing act (and positively frightful PR move) that even David Blaine wouldn't dare attempt. Perhaps you'll also recall how, several months after said vanishing, you foolishly chose to wield the unsavory communication tools of Facebook like a rusty, chain-link mace, in a thinly veiled attempt at grabbing my wavering attention.
Given the context and circumstances of the above, I thought you might be interested to know that I've since spoken with an old acquaintance of yours, who shed light for me not only on your reckless routine of using and abusing poor, unsuspecting victims like me in order to further your fledgling career, but also on that little recreational habit of yours which has, within my circle of friends, earned you the nickname "Cokie Roberts." Mayhaps, you would now like to know that I am at least 1,000% over you.
Sniff-sniff, snort snort,