Dear

I regret to inform you that you have been eliminated from further contention as Mr. Right.
As you are probably aware, the competition was exceedingly tough and dozens of
well-qualified candidates such as yourself also failed to make the final cut.

I will, however, keep your name on file should an opening come available.
So that you may find better success in your future romantic endeavors, please allow me to offer the following reason(s) you were disqualified from the competition:

Your last name is objectionable. I can't imagine taking it, hyphenating it,
or subjecting my children to it.
Your first name is objectionable. It's just not something I can picture myself yelling
out in a fit of passion.
The fact that our finest dining experience to date has been at McDonald's reveals a thriftiness that I find unappealing.
You failed the 20 Question Rule, i.e., I asked you 20 questions about yourself before
you asked me more than one about myself.
You're too short. Any son that we produced would inevitably be beaten up repeatedly
at recess.
You're too tall. I'm developing a chronic neck condition from trying to kiss you.
I find your inability to fix my car extraordinarily unappealing.
The fact that your apartment has been condemned reveals an inherent slovenliness
that I fear is unbreakable.
The phrase "My Mother" has popped up far too often in conversation.
You still live with your parents.
Although 1 do enjoy the X-Files, I find your wardrobe of Star Trek uniforms a little disconcerting.
Your frequent references to your ex-girlfriend lead me to suspect that you are some
sort of psychotic stalker.
Your ability to belch the alphabet is not a trait that I am seeking in a long term partner.
The fact that you categorize the ProBowler's Tour as "must see" demonstrates that
you do not meet my intelligence requirements.
I am out of your league; set your sights lower next time.