Bored one morning while delivering newspapers, I turned to a sports talk radio show run by a network that sounds like Aspen if you removed the A and transpose the e to the front. The regular doofus wasn’t there so we had a fill-in host whose name I didn’t catch. Someone emailed him and invited him to a Motley Crue concert and his response was, “I used to listen to Motley Crue when I was like 11. Then I turned 12.”
Did Talk-show Boy just disrespect fans of the Crue? Am I to understand that at 43 I’m less mature than a 12 year old because I’m a fan of a legendary glam metal band? A monkey on a microphone is deriding my musical choices? I have drafted a response. Talk-show Boy will hereupon be known as Doyle:
Dear Doyle,
How exciting for you that you matured to adulthood at age 12. While the hoi polloi were still slogging around in the muck evolving to the riffs of “Shout at the Devil” you had already taken your first big boy steps to the strains of Berlioz’s Symphonie fantastique performed by the Academy of St Martin’s-in-the-Fields.
You must get chills when you remember the desultory masses scraping by you banging their heads to the double bass drum assault of “Livewire” while you, now a full-blooded member of the ruling elite, relaxed in your protective bubble to the dulcet tones of Enrico Caruso’s impassioned aria from I, Pagliacci.
Please regale us with the story of your manservant chaperoning your trip to see Dylan at The Bitter End while we in the proletariat huddled around the Victrola listening to “Girls, Girls, Girls” in the gloaming of another ashen day.
More than anything, I am so pleased that you have put your early maturity to good use, all these years later becoming a fill-in host on a midnight to 5 a.m. sports talk show. Bully for you, sir. Bravo and well done.
or I could go with a shorter, more direct approach:
Dear Slob,
Screw you.
A Crue fan who thinks you suck.
What do you think?
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