Open Letter to (my future husband) Ryan Adams

Dearest Ryan,
The strangest thing happened tonight when I was minding my own business, watching American Idol (don't judge me, honey, I need something to fill my time when I am not thinking about you...and let's face it, that shit is hilarious). A commercial for some cell phone company came on, Ryan, and it took me a minute to realize that one of your songs was playing in the background. I realize that you have written songs that really idiotic people sing...and though it doesn't take away from the fact that you are brilliant and one of the most talented songwriters alive, it bothers me when they put your voice on a commercial. Didn't you see what happened to Modest Mouse? OKGO? Ben Harper? Needless to say, I curled up into the fetal position and screamed (while Spliff nearly had a coronary from laughing so hard at me) at the top of my lungs, "NOOOO! Not my RYAN!" As much as I would like to follow your personal advice to me and "ride the sunshine", Ryan, I cannot do so with your exploitation being rubbed in my face during American Idol. I cannot, nay, WILL not stand for this. I vow to keep your good name sacred and non-commercial. If this means that I have to picket said cell-phone company with signs that say "You are stealing my sunshine" (words from a very bad, very commercial song, might I add...SUCKAGE in its purest form), I will do it, Ryan. I will do it out of pure devotion to you and your talented ass. Yes.

That said, I would like to invite you now, to propose. Because, honestly, dear, I cannot wait much longer. The mind suckage that is American Idol will surely be the end of me. Only you can save me.



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