Dear Clif,

It's been a while since we talked last. I've been trying to leave you alone. Let you do your own thing, make your own mistakes. You know. But we need to have another chat. Not about the taste of your breakfast bars this time. I've actually found a few that are fairly decent. This time we need to talk about these little inspirational messages on your wrappers. I'm sure these European bike trips of yours are really exciting. That's not true. I'm sure they are probably fucking excruciating. Miles upon miles of pedaling while having to listen to you drone on and on and on and on about vast glaciers and quaint villages and "explorative riding." Whatever the fuck that is. I'm willing to bet that the only reason your friends agree to go on these trips with you if because you're rich as balls and pay for the trip for them. Why the hell else would they put up with your shit? I know you're all about yoga and organic whatnot and good karma. That's great. But enough with the soupy, psuedo-philosophical drek already. Stay in your lane and stick to making mediocre-tasting energy bars. I think that would be best for everyone involved.

Thanks,

People Who Want Breakfast, Not A Life Lesson

PS: Why are they called Clif Bars if your name is fucking Gary? 

You don't know me. But that's ok, because up until Friday I had no idea who you were either. Apparently, according to your interview in Friday's issue of The Metro, you're in some band I've never heard of called The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Having never heard of you or your band, I took to the vast repository of random information that is Wikipedia to find out more. Apparently you are the guys that wrote the opening theme to Boardwalk Empire, so that's pretty cool. I like that song. But after reading some of the things you had to say in your interview, I feel compelled to tell you this: You are a MASSIVE douche. This may sound like a silly question, but are you able to actually hear the words as the come out of your mouth? What am I saying? Of course you can't. There would be no possible way for a grown man to hear some of the words that came out of your mouth and keep a straight face. 

“Let’s be honest: The mainstream is a sewer...Why on Earth would I want to be anywhere near any of it? ... Growing up in Newport Beach and watching the culture change from local and well-to-do to transient new money bulls— forced me to forsake it forever.”

What. The Fuck. Does that even mean? If you were sitting in the freshman dining hall trying to get trying to get that cute sociology major down the hall to touch your penis, then that would be an acceptable statement to make out loud. But you're FORTY-FIVE! Let me repeat that: Forty-five. You have a wife (unfuckingbelievably) and a child. Who are you still trying to impress? Your band has a full time tambourine player and you haven't washed your hair with shampoo since Ford was president. You're different. We get it. But wait, you also live in Germany now. How not mainstream of you. What made you choose Germany? No wait, let me guess.

“It’s the last place in the Western world that will adopt the outward trapping of a police state as we glide ever deeper into something that looks like and feels like corporate fascism,”

Did you just come back from a study abroad? I don't even know what to say to that. How can you be such a selfish asswipe? There are tons of upper-middle class white kids in small New England liberal arts colleges who have no other way to distinguish themselve but to spout psuedo-intellectual drivel like that. Why can't you just stick to being in a band and leave the pretending to be smart to them? 

So, in closing, I would just like to say that I hope you get prostate cancer in your gums.

Love,

Jack

NOTHING STICKS IT TO THE MAINSTREAM LIKE WEARING A DENIM TUXEDO AND AN APATHETIC FACE

In the spirit of full disclosure, I feel obligated to tell you what it is that I do with those Christmas cards you mail me. I open the envelope. I take the card out. I look at it for about 10 seconds and say to myself "I should really call soandso." And then I throw it in the garbarge. I don't mean "I hang it up for a few weeks and then throw it out." I mean directly from the envelope into the garbage. I'm not much of a sentimentalist. To tell you the truth, you're not very interesting. And your Christmas cards are even less interesting. If you're ok with this knowledge, by all means keep sending me your Christmas cards. But just know that I won't take it personally if you decide to stop engaging in this colossal waste of time and energy and stop sending them. Because once again, I'm just going to throw them right into the garbage. 

Happy Holidays!

Love,

Just Somebody Trying To Save You All A Load Of Unnecessary Trouble

Unless your card is as ballsass crazy as this one...which it probably isn't.

AMERICA! FUCK YEAH!

Dear Freedom,

I don't really know how to say this, but I think it's time we break up. You see, Freedom, we really Which we can all agree is more delicious than freedomdon't need you anymore. I mean, we have a bacon cheeseburger with macaroni and cheese on it. We have Keeping Up With The Kardashians. We even have a 4G dildo-phone that doubles as a Wi-Fi hotspot. So you see, we'll still be the number one country in the whole wide universe even without freedom or due process or equal protection under the law. That shit's for liberals and fags anyway. As long as gays can't marry and corporations aren't regulated, everything that makes AWESOME (yes in all caps!) will be safe! Look, we've had a really good run. We had some laughs and we'll always cherish the memories we made together, but the time has come to say goodbye. And besides, you know that for the last thirty years we've just been going through the motions anyway. The National Defense Authorization Act of 2012 (which passed by a HUGE majority in both houses of Congress, btw)just said what we were both thinking anyway. But this will be really good for you. You can move on and find a country that really appreciate you they way we used to. I'm sorry freedom. It's not you, it's me.

Love,

America

XoXo

Yeah you thought I was kidding about that dildo phone, didn't you, motherfucker?

You guys really tried to turn Thanksgiving into another "War on God" "Obama hates America" story? Ok...I think it's time we had a little talk. I get that this whole "culture war" thing is your schtick but come on. It's like you're not even trying to pass yourself off as a real news source anymore. That's no fun. I miss the old Fox News. WE all knew you were crazy but YOU didn't quite know it yet. So even though you weren't even within spitting distance of fair or balanced, at least it seemed like you believed all the crazy shit you were saying. Now it's like you're in on the joke and just trying to see how far you can push it. What's fun about that? It's just not sporting. So now that the joke has reached its end, maybe you could try being a real news network. You're right. Silly thought. 

Sincerely,

People Who Miss Your Unintentional Comedy

Ok, so maybe you haven't been trying for a while now.

I hope you get AIDS right in the center of your eyeballs, you cunt-nuzzling shitfucker. I was planning on doing a big write up for Arkham City, Skyrim, and Assassin's Creed, but I can't do that now. And for what? Some fucking Microsoft Points? Seriously, shitcock? You couldn't have at least stole some real actual money from me? I hope your whole family dies in a house fire on Christmas Eve. You're probably sitting in your mother's basement lauging about this, thinking you're some kind of hacker mastermind. I hope that some day you have sons and that Jerry Sandusky is their little league coach. I hope you fucking die and everyone who ever knew you has a shitty life solely becuase they were connected to you.

In closing, and I mean this from that absolute bottom of my heart: I hope all of the bad things in life happen to you and nobody else.

Sincerely,

A Guy Who Can't Access His Gamer Profile For 25 Days.

I hope that on the night you finally lose your virginity, you also contract Hepatitis C, you shit guzzling fuckbag.

I'm a tad confused. You went out of the house today all dolled up in a nice summer dress and a brand new pair of boots. You had your makeup all done up, your hair was perfectly highlighted. It was clear that you even had your impeccable eyebrows freshly waxed (base on the redness all around your browline). So why on Earth did it look like you haven't shaved your legs in at least a year? What. The Shit. Is That About? Listen, shaving sucks to your assmar. There's nothing enjoyable about dragging a razorblade across your skin to scrape the hair off. But leg hair on a female just isn't ok. Unless you're a fucking centaur. Or you're part yeti. Come on, even your arm hair looked like it was shaved off. I just don't get it. It's like you're skipping all the easy test questions and going right to the extra credit. Please just help me to understand.

Sincerely,

Guys who appreciate basic grooming

Dear MGMT,Pictured: Artism

Let me just start by saying I'm a big fan. I really am. So many of your songs just put me in a really groovy mood. And that's what makes what I'm about to say so much more difficult. Your song Brian Eno may be the single worst fucking song ever in the history of music. Seriously. It's a fucking disgrace. It's so heinously bad that it makes me question everything else you've ever written. Brian Eno is like the Boondock Saints II of music. It's so horribly bad that it almost makes me hate all the good stuff that came before it. How could you write something so awful? Was it a joke? I mean, I know you guys are art school kids from Brooklyn, so maybe you were trying to be ironic? Do my lame, mainstream sensibilities just not get it? Well if you could get back to me and let me know what the story is, that would be awesome.

Sincerely,

People who want to know what the fuck you were thinking when you wrote that shitpile of a song

I am one hundred percent on board with your recent comments during a gig in Poland. (Cause, you know, Poland is where all the relevant musicians go on tour.) I think it's totally reasonable to compare the deaths of seventy-seven Norweigans at the hands of a crazed lunatic to the fast food industry. I certainly think that grinding up small, flightless birds in order to make Chicken McNuggets...crispy, golden, delicious Chicken McNuggets...is clearly worse than murdering scores of people (most of whom were just kids) with a car bomb and automatic gunfire. 

Pictured: Who gives a shit, they're not farm animals.

Now Steve (you don't mind if I call you Steve do you?) I, for one, am glad to see someone Pictured: A sensible man.FINALLY taking a stand against the diabolical fast food industry and their sniveling apologists in the media. I mean who really gives a shit about these stupid humans. They probably ate meat anyway. That basically puts them on par with the Nazis as far as anyone with a functional cerebrum and a hair cut that totally in no way looks rediculous on a fifty year old man, would no doubt agree. 

But more than that Steve, I'm proud of you. So many people out there are under the mistaken impression that you only know about writing songs for whiney emo queers to cut themselves to or being an ambiguously homosexual AARP member. PREPOSTEROUS! You, Steverino, have proven yourself to be the last voice of sanity in mad, mad world.  You're a pragmatic man with a keen perspective on what is and is not truly important. And you're a man of great conviction. When your comments sparked outrage amongst the unenlightened, meat-engorged public, you stood tall. Most people in your position would have apologized. They would have blamed drugs or alcohol or spirochaetes eating their central nervous system. Not you Steve. You stood up for what you believe in.

"If you quite rightly feel horrified at the Norway killings, then it surely naturally follows that you feel horror at the murder of ANY innocent being. You cannot ignore animal suffering simply because animals 'are not us'."

Sure many people have probably read your comments and said to themselves "wait a minute, didn't Morrissey die of AIDS in the early 90's?" But I think you've really reached some people with this. And not just the forty year old drag queens and teenaged emo-goths who make up the vast majority of your audience. I think your blue collar blend of flamboyant fasion and ambiguously gay lifestyle give make you incredibly relateable to those whose opinions you are working to change. You keep up the fine work you're doing, sir. The word "hero" isn't nearly strong enough to describe one so courageous as yourself.

Love,

People Who Place The Proper Value On Human Life (About $3.40 with fries and a Coke)

Pictured: A perspective-less 52 year old shit dick named Steve.

Pictured: A Clif BarDear Clif,

I think saying that your energy bar is "Crunchy Peanut Butter" is more than a little misleading. I think you should give your product a name that prepares us, your faithful customers, for the flavor profile we are about to experience. Now I understand that going the total honesty route and calling it "Mushy Dog Feces" might not go over too well with the marketing guys, but clearly we can find a middle ground here. What about "Chewy Indeterminable Space-age Polymer?" Or maybe "Modeling Clay That Was Dropped Into a Bag of Granola?" No, you're right. That would never fit on the packaging. Whatever, I'm sure you have people to do this kind of thing. I'm just saying that what I just ate was neither crunchy nor peanut butter. 

Regards,

People Who Like Truth In Advertising

Pictured: A Clif Bar. Or dog shit. I can't remember.