Dear Stones Throw Records

I realise that budgets and advances are probably tight at the moment, but you couldn't give that cunt Aloe Blacc a dollar just to shut him up, could you?


As for you, Aloe - give it a rest, eh? I need a blow-job, but you don't hear me writing a fucking song about it.

Regards,
Davis.

PS - Good record, like.

PPS - You're not related to Aloe Vera by any chance, are you?

Dear Harry Potter fans, Harry Potter creators, Harry Potter marketers

Is it over yet? Fucking hell. Please let it be over. I don't think I can take another week of having the following conversation for the 5,000,000th time in the last decade -

SQUEALING FAN: "Have you seen the new Harry Potter film yet?"
RATIONAL ADULT: "No."
SQUEALING FAN: "Why not?!"
RATIONAL ADULT: "I'm not 10."
SQUEALING FAN: "Have you read the book though?"
RATIONAL ADULT: "No."
SQUEALING FAN: "Why not?!"
RATIONAL ADULT: "I'm not 10."

- I could go on. God knows, you all have for long enough.


Exasperated regards,
Davis.

PS - Get a bra would you, Jo? And stop crying every five seconds - you're a grown woman, for fuck's sake, and it's not even real.

Dear HMV

Just got back from visiting another of your ailing stores, and have drawn you a cartoon. I hope you like it.

Facetious regards,
Davis.

Dear Jared Leto

I can't quite believe the fact that you've managed to escape an appearance on these pages thus far, but so it goes. However, I finally broke today, and I'd very much like to borrow your ear for a moment so that I can tell you about it.


You'd be amazed at what it was that set me off - and, by extension, just how much you've been allowed to get away with over the last few years. Bafflingly, it wasn't your complete and utter lack of acting ability over two long decades which provided the trigger. It wasn't the fact that, having grown up in the 90s, every single girl I've ever been with has been obsessed with My So-Called Fucking Life. It wasn't the jaw-droppingly offensive presumptiveness of your "hey, look-at-me!" impression of Kurt Cobain on Youtube (please note: you will never, NEVER get that role), or the quite hilariously awful 'performance' you put in to ruin the otherwise fairly serviceable Panic Room.

No, it wasn't any of these things. Equally, it wasn't your galling pomposity in forming 30 Seconds to Mars, by far the most pretentious, witless and po-faced act to ever fool a million confused teenagers into thinking holds any depth or meaning by dint of some moody lighting and the sight of you emoting like a constipated shampoo model. It wasn't the fact that your idea of melodic projection seems to constitute going from faux-whispered low-note to over-dramatic high note in every fucking line ("We are KEEEEIIIIIINGS, and QUEEEEEAAAAYYYNS!", etc etc). It wasn't even the clatteringly awful video for Closer to the Edge ('A Bartholomew Cubbins Film'), which is literally the most appalling thing I've ever seen.

No, it was a single, simple image wot dunnit. So, just in case you were wondering whether the issue of your credibility and integrity as a serious musician is still up for question -


- I THINK IT'S PROBABLY SAFE TO SAY THAT IT IS.

Regards,
Davis.

 PS - I imagine it must feel great to have achieved your lifelong ambition of being screamed at by pubescent girls for such a sustained period of time. Aside from an appearance on Dateline NBC's To Catch a Predator, I still await a mash-up of a 30STM vid with your brutal pummelling at the hands of Ed Norton in Fight Club, the axeing by Patrick Bateman in American Psycho and Requiem For a Dream's arm-sawing sequence with gleeful relish.

Dear Peter Falk

Oh, sir. Where to even start? Personally, I really like the idea that you were presented with a key to the Pearly Gates a good few years in advance of this shit day, and absent-mindedly deposited it in your mac pocket. Lord knows, there are few images as endearing as the thought of you up there now, attempting to locate it, patting down every other compartment before removing a week-old parking stub, a business card for your cousin's Auto Repair outfit and a shopping list from the wife.


Here's hoping your ride didn't break down on your way up to the great big police station in the sky. (Mind you, I suppose if it had, Bruno Ganz could always give you a lift). We'll be sure to look after 'Dog', keep a stogie on standby and leave the raincoat loveably crumpled. RIP, you absolute effing legend.

Heartbroken regards,
Davis.

Dear Deliverers of an Extinction-Level Event

RE: the below.

- Apocalypse when? Apocalypse NOW.

Regards,
Davis.

PS - Seriously, please send the meteorite ASAP. We've gone far enough as a 'civilisation'.

Dear Film Studios, Distributors, Exhibitors, Audiences

Heard really great things about Senna - serious contender for film of the year, uplifting triumph of the human spirit, moving affirmation of life's inherent fragility, etc - and am well up for watching it.


Unfortunately, I can't, as here's what's currently playing on the various screens of my local multiplex:

* Pirates of the Caribbean 57
* Pirates of the Caribbean 57 (3D)
* Kung Fu Panda 2
* Kung Fu Panda 2 (3D)
* X-Men 13
* X-Men 13 (3-D)
* Honey 2
* The Hangover 2

- Great. Nice one. Cheers.

I hope you'll understand when I say I'll probably be catching it on DVD, then.


Despairing regards,
Davis.

PS - Do better. Seriously, just DO BETTER.