Dear Swiftcover Insurance, and by extension, Iggy Pop

Swiftcover, the madness must stop.

When I’m watching television, every time the scheduled programing ends, there’s Iggy Pop, angry and shouting about insurance.

Swiftcover, no matter how much ad-time you’ve purchased, it won’t make your insurance products any more interesting to the general public.

Why do you believe a gaunt, sinewy rock star that resembles a breast-less Wicked Witch of the West is the best possible face for your company? Your company is not that rebellious or it wouldn’t be turning a profit.

You’d be better off having the gnarled wreckage of  car with the spongy crimson remains of a driver hanging out of it with bottle of Jack Daniels in one barely-attached hand as a spokesthing. The wails of the family choking to death on each other’s vomited blood in a crushed minivan opposite would be preferable to hearing Iggy Pop utter, “It’s time to r-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-d-d-d-d-e” ever again.

Just so you know…

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

Dear Luluemon Chris

Thanks for the response to my previous letter, which follows:

“this is pure loser talk. spend the time you spend hating on everything, and go get something for yourself!”

It’s obvious you are a sweetheart, so I’ll kindly respond with a few things:

I’m assuming the advice you have graciously provided is coming from a position of experience. I’m assuming you consider yourself a winner. I’m assuming you spend your time not “hating on everything.” I’m assuming you use that time to “go get something for yourself!”

Note: I’m well aware “assuming” makes “asses of you and me.”

That said, I’m sort of confused about the general spirit it was written.

“go get something for yourself”

What does that mean exactly? A glass of water? A large TV? An $82 T-shirt claiming to utilize seaweed to absorb sweat yet does NOT actually contain seaweed? How ’bout a state of enlightened state of nirvana that is free from the burdensome trappings of modern consumer culture.

Note: Yoga does not require an $82 T-Shirt nor seamless pants.

“this is pure loser talk”

First, this is pure loser writing. There is a difference.

Secondly, there is safety in numbers and there will always be more losers than winners. I like that.

Besides, without losers there would be no one to envy you and your winner comrades in your yoga loft engaging in an endless circle jerk to end all circle jerks.

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

PS: Words beginning sentences require capitalization. I know you know where the shift key is because you used an exclamation point at the end of your sentence.

PPS: You are a douche.

PPPS: Seriously.

PPPPS: I don’t have anything against circle jerks or yoga even… Just stupidity.

PPPPPS: I think you are stupid.

PPPPPPS: No. Seriously.

To the Quiet Broken Fridge

Soon our time will be over. Today, someone suggested I carry you out of here by myself. I politely explained it would too great a task and I would need help. Then I said, “I’ll only be able to do it is if it is in parts.”

I was serious. There is a hammer in the hallway.

The kitchen looks like you vomited all over it. There is a crummy feeling where the good used to be. Everything went bad when you walked away from our relationship. The kitchen stinks and I think you are a douche bag. Ruiner!

I’ll never trust your kind ever again. I should have known better. It’s not like your type hasn’t given up on me before. I naively thought you were better than that. I naively thought you were committed.

Though I hate to admit it, I’m finding it extremely difficult to live without you in my life. But don’t think for a minute that I can’t manage to survive without you. The bitter taste of your betrayal keeps me going.

Sooner or later I’m going to need to eat. That will force me to clean the kitchen…I’ll feel bad all over.

Why?! Why have you done this to me?

Sincerely,

Fergis

PS: I wish I could quit you.

To Club-Goers With Their Unhappy Faces On

Occasionally, I’ll put down my pen and glass of bourbon and head for the Avenue for some Whyte night life. There’s nothing quite like waiting outside a club in the Canadian winter for 30 minutes out to consume $6 draft beer and dance a little.

What could be better? Well, there seems to be a growing number of people on the weekends wearing their unhappy faces. These people in the latest styles dancing and drinking while looking as if they just came from a funeral. Don’t worry beautiful sad people, your cat didn’t die in a microwave, your mom still hasn’t found those spring break videos you made after drinking tequila for the first time,  and your boss hasn’t discovered you haven’t finished any work since you’ve started your job. There is no reason to look so upset.

Perhaps some people realize the promise of drunken casual sex and bathroom coke won’t rescue them from themselves, yet continue to engage in the nightlife out of habit. Who knows? Just try to look amused when I throw up on your shoes…

Sincerely,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy

To the Garageband-Curious

Garageband seems good at first.

I took my laptop out of the box and there Garageband was…

“Wow, this thing has got everything…exotic drum beats, lazy acoustic samples, sinister synth tones. This is great,” I thought to myself. “I’ll be pumping out great recordings in a matter of weeks.”

It started innocently enough. The recordings were unlistenable to the ear.

“The magic will happen later,” I would say to myself when my guitar and voice recorded with a built-in mic wouldn’t sound natural against the slick, scientifically-engineered marimba samples.

So I bought a decent mic…

However, before you can interface an XLR input with a computer you need to be a MIDI interface. So I did.

The recordings still sounded ridiculous…so I bought a better acoustic guitar, a fancy pants MIDI controller even a low-grade Swedish home organ. The guitar signal needed to be directly injected into the interface to sound better, so I got a preamp.

Later that month, my credit card bill arrived in two envelopes.

In order to pay my mounting debts I quit my job and started writing music full-time…

That was 14 months ago. A brutal downward spiral followed involving drug-trafficking guitar players, drummers that won’t leave your couch for anything less than 12 beers, vague, shameful memories of college residence party and not a single decent song. Grim, grim things.

Everything has been sold to pay the creditors to avoid lengthy legal proceedings.

Garageband ruins lives! If you want some good advice, give music up in favour of chemical engineering or lion taming, endevours that likely won’t result in bitter disappointment and regret.

Sincerly,

Fergis T. McGillicuddy