Can anyone help me deliver this letter?

Editor's Note: The original text of this letter was found near the University Hills Duck Pond Park, not too far from part of the Anacostia Tributary Trails, and was forwarded to Standing On The Shoulders Of Giant Midgets in the hope that the large and esteemed readership of this blog might be able to shed some light on who the intended recipient might be and help in getting the letter to its addressee. Please feel free to offer any delivery suggestions in the comments section. Thank you.

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Dear Mark,

I should have contacted you sooner. I just--I didn't really have the right words or know exactly what to say. I think I thought--hoped--that you would move on. That you would find another and forget about me. I didn't know you'd react by lashing out at black people like that.

I don't know when I started feeling it. I know we had some good times together, yes: riding to clubs and museums, cruising down Independence Ave., hanging out at Georgetown. But there were all these little things that nagged at me.

You were never really easy to get along with, Mark. While I was always yearning for freedom, to feel the wind and the rush of speed, at some level you were always a pretentious git. It's stuff like when you tell people there ought to be a "conservative" Rolling Stone and Entertainment Weekly. Okay, so RS is pretty left-wing in its middlebrow pulp culture way with the politics columns by Matt Taibbi and periodic RFK, Jr. "exposé", but Entertainment Weekly?! I never really got that EW was all that liberal, or maybe I missed something, and, besides, wouldn't you want to aim just a little higher than that contentwise? And besides the besides, what would a "conservative Entertainment Weekly" cover, exactly? Ted Nugent, Dave Mustaine and Alice Cooper only release so-many-records every year, or were you going to run lots and lots of articles exposing Tony Kushner's radical gay agenda (gee whiz, and he was so subtle about it, too--so glad you noticed and pointed it out)? (Also, aren't you going to be disappointed now if Spielberg's Lincoln biopic doesn't have all that gay sex you're obsessed with, Mark?)

Or there's your weird paranoia about how liberals "must always take the next step and begin abolishing religion and liquidating people who stand in their way". Like there aren't any Catholic liberals? Anyway, how do you think liberals are going to liquidate everybody once they take away and destroy all the guns? Tofu them to death? (Also, I'm pretty sure liberals will want to keep enough "breeders" around so there are always kids to re-educate and convert to homosexuality and environmentalism and stuff.)

But the thing that really creeped me out, Mark, is something I must have sensed even as we spent so many joyous hours outside, so close together we might as well have been one, even though it didn't manifest itself before I took the serious step of liberating myself and moving away. Yeah, it's the race thing, Mark. The way you'd always talk about how your favorite movie was In The Heat Of The Night--it wasn't even like you'd go the usual route and randomly announce some of your best friends are black so you can't be a racist jerk, which I guess since you didn't do that, maybe they aren't, so maybe there's a weird honesty there after all. I guess I must have noticed, too, how you couldn't treat people as people, but instead singled out African-Americans for "patronizing condescension and obsequious genuflecting to their Absolute Moral Authority gained from centuries of suffering". I guess maybe you didn't notice, Mark, but I did: most of those black people noticed how condescending you were being and thought you were a dick.

It embarrassed me, Mark. Just being seen with you embarrassed me.

So I left. I packed up and left. I had no idea you'd just assume I ran off with some black person, but I guess in retrospect I'm not really surprised, either. You are a racist jerk.

I'd like to say it was me, and not you. But that would be dishonest. It was all you. You're a jerk, Mark, and always have been, and nobody is fooled by the way you try to be "hip" and "cool" when you're really just another smug self-righteous, sanctimonious poseur who Just Doesn't Get It. (Big rock'n'roll fan, Mark? Did you know Dylan wrote a song about you?) You don't deserve me, and I'm happy I finally accepted that and moved on. I'm happy now. Finally, I'm getting in touch with myself, taking the opportunities the world brings me to slowly roll along and enjoy the flowers or madly rush by, swept up in all the joys of this world. Oh, and treating people like people no matter who they are and what they believe (unless, of course, they park in a bike lane--those people suck).

Don't come looking for me, I never want to see you again. It's over.

Sincerely,
Your (ex-)Bike.

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(H/t Alex Pareene.)