My Letter to Rolling Stone

I am a long-time subscriber. Never sent anything in before, but this is important: Your investigative reporting and in-depth profile pieces are a joy to read. Seriously, keep that shit up. 

But goddamn it, Rolling Stone, your taste in music is worse than my daughter who won’t stop listening to One Direction. At least when she puts that on, I know it’s shit and so I’m not surprised. But you jack-holes love to recommend “good” music, or, in this last mag, list the “best” albums of the year. 

I’m like a baby watching the spoon come towards me, expecting Hawaiian Delight, but getting a gross mouthful of Beef Stew; if you were next to me I’d blast it back in your face. It’s like seeing my best friend ring the doorbell and answering to find a goddamn flaming bag of dog shit. 

Case in point: Father John Misty - Leaving LA. Are you fucking kidding? Hipsters cum in their pants when they hear this guy. How about just listen to the non-shit version of FJM. He’s got a bunch of albums. You may be familiar with him. His name is Bob Dylan. 

To sum up: great reporting and in-depth articles. Keep that shit up! 

Music staff: burn their houses down and murder their next of kin to avoid spreading or perpetuating their unoriginal, shit taste in music.