Dear John Mayer,

Your lyrics are trite, and your tunes mundane. Vocally, you resemble a weasel gargling mouthwash. Please don't write music for the tired romance of preteens and hopeless women anymore. I would very much like to punch you square in your stupid nostrils, and serve your own liver to you with a side of failure and mashed potatoes. Eat bathtub cleanser and rot in the ground.



P.S. I bet you own the game "Shaq-Fu".




Yours Truly,

Murphy

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I've noticed recently that I'm actually a very angry little fluffy thing. =3








Fuck your "wonderland."

--MURPHY