Photo: My two true loves, The Flight of the Conchords. *sigh*
Today brings another batch of angry (and in some cases, desperate) half-letters that I will never send. The theme: SASQUATCH.
Dear People Who Could Afford Sasquatch Tickets,
Are you thieves or liars? I will assume you knocked over a bank, have some kind of sugar daddy, or won an egregious lawsuit against Corporate America; those were my only viable options. Also, many of you might have jobs, but that's neither here nor there.
I am amazed when anyone over the age of 85 still rocks, so good for you! Even though 'Drive' was my personal depression anthem for many, many years, I would have danced to your new music like an acid-tripping hippie on a Pogo stick--which is how a lot of your fans tend to dance. I would have also turned a blind eye/blind nose to Michael Stipe's rumored assholery/body odor situation; I would have brought a giant taser and an industrial-sized deodorant, just in case.
I have never listened to your music, but there are people in my life who are way cooler than I am, and they all seem to dig you. I don't even know how to say your name--is it Em-Eye-Aye, or Mee-ah? Once I figure that out, we can take our relationship to the next level.
Dear Flight of the Conchords,
You played the Robot song without me? Come on. You seriously effed me in the A, guys. No one appreciates your slightly un-funny non-music more than me! And Jemaine used the term 'ro-bros'?! Missing you at Sasquatch was like missing the birth of my own child.
Dear Wayne Coyne of The Flaming Lips,
I dispatched at least four people to propose to you while at Sasquatch, but I haven't heard back from you? I assure you, my boyfriend is very understanding.
Dear Sera Cahoone, Rogue Wave, Jamie Lidell, The Kooks, Awesome, The New Pornographers, and Every Other Band I Wanted to See,
Fuck, I missed ALL of you?!?! I hope you all sucked. Put me on the list next time?
Dear Robert Smith of The Cure,
I remember reading about a certain emo, bloated, sell-out someone wanting to collaborate with Ashlee Simpson last year. I remember throwing up in my mouth a little. I remember disowning you. I remember shaking my fist at the sky. That being said, I've never seen you in concert, and it might have been cool (20 years ago).
Dear People Who Attended Sasquatch, Namely Everyone I Know,
I didn't want to go anyways, so nyah.
Dear Sasquatch (ie; Bigfoot, the bipedal hominoid who lives in the Pacific Northwest),
Your magic is real and I believe in you, much like I did Michael Jackson and David Blaine (but those were closer to learning experiences than anything else). We can become BFF's and drink hot chocolate and go on Sasquatch adventures together. I will take you to a music festival that has been named in your honor, and you can eat everyone in sight. Consider it an early Christmas gift.