Dear John

You know that thing Abraham Lincoln once said (it was Abe, right?) about it being better to let people think you're an idiot than to open up your mouth and remove all doubt? Words to live by.

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Save that smoldering look, Johnny boy. It's not going to work this time, buddy.

To that end, we've kind of always had a sneaking suspicion that you were a bona fide idiot (or douche bag, if you prefer) just from a story one of our friends shared with us about meeting you once in passing and how you brazenly spoke of the fairer sex in -- how shall we say -- a less than honorable fashion (you're quite fond of the vajayjay, aren't you?).

Anyhow, after reading all that crap you spouted off -- that whole 'hood pass nonsense, and don't even get us started on the N-bomb you dropped -- let's just say suspicions confirmed. And to think, we gave you the benefit of the doubt (a good pass?).

Before yesterday, we just kind of assumed that one story was just that -- an isolated incident, we figured. You know how stories tend to get embellished. Surely you couldn't really be as much of a misogynistic jackass in real life as that encounter seemed to suggest. (Shows you what we know, eh?) Ultimately, we just wrote it off to you being socially awkward or whatever, and cut a dude some slack.

We did that mostly because we've always had a soft spot for you ever since seeing that one skit on Chapelle and then reading your periodic ramblings in magazines and on Twitter, which always struck us as clever with just the right amount of irreverence. In those instances, you didn't come across as the mouth-breathing knuckle-dragger you now appear to be. You came across as charming and intelligent.

Because of that, you eventually won us over -- well, sort of. That is to say that we didn't pull a Raymond Babbit every time your songs came on the radio. In fact, there were a couple cuts from Continuum that stopped us dead in our tracks, which made it slightly easier to defend you when people started spraying the room with haterade whenever your name was invoked.

Lest you get drunk with hubris, you should probably know that, for the most part, we tended to agree with our boys when they insisted your music was trite, sissified, homogenized chick rock (ahem, speaking of knuckle-draggers...). Even so, those tunes -- "Slow Dancing In a Burning Room" and "I'm Going to Find Another You" -- made it hard for us to feel good about joining in taking the piss out of you.

Be that as it may, the fact that you really are a douche bag, which you unequivocally confirmed thanks to your astonishing lack of anything resembling a filter, has forced us to reconsider. Any twinge of affection we might have once felt is now gone. How did you put it on "I'm Going to Find Another You"? Oh, yeah, right -- guess that's exactly how you put it, isn't it?

You get the picture. And actually, if you must know, we've already sort of found another you, as it were. If you must know, we're kind of sweet on this Will Hoge kid that keeps calling. But that's neither here nor there. Before we part ways, we'll leave you with this -- and from the looks of your show last night in Nashville, this is something you've already begun to figure out yourself (p.s. for what it's worth, we doubt anybody's buying the waterworks at this point, Johnny).

Fact is, you are a talented guy. If you can just STFU for three or seven seconds and begin channeling that intellect of yours into writing more songs like the two we mentioned, you'll make a great catch someday. In the meantime, try a little tenderness. It will go a long way toward saving you from being a sad, lonely man - which seems to be your fate right now.

Yours,
WW



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