I loved you. I had years of fun with you. We laughed, we mocked, we pretended you were a cooking show when really you were just a cooking version of Wipeout.
I talked to some of your exes. That's right, you have exes. Did you think I didn't know? You told me they were just friends of yours, friends you thought very highly of. And they told me all about how your sous chefs actively sabotaged the contestants by doing things such as hiding the prep food, replacing the oil with water, swapping the sugar and salt, turning down the heat on the ovens, supplying so few pans that the kitchens had to steal them from each other, ramping down the air conditioning, and switching cooks at a station between prep and dinner service so that the dinner service cook can't help but screw up the food that they played no part in prepping.
You lied to me. You lied to me about the very thing upon which our relationship was based, after you swore up and down that it was true. If that isn't true, our love isn't true.
I'm seeing someone new, Hell's Kitchen. Meet Cutthroat Kitchen on the Food Network. It's honest about the fact that the cooks are there to get screwed with. I've deleted your number from my DVR. Goodbye. Goodbye forever.
Oh, and I've given Cutthroat Kitchen all the clothes you left at my place. They fit.