DIE, DIE PAT BENATAR

dear ms. benatar,
throughout my life i have enjoyed your music. from the first time i heard "invincible" vis a vis the kids-can-make-a-difference-too epic, the legend of billie jean, to the haunting "love is a battlefield," and, let us not forget, the ever-poignant "hit me with your best shot," i have stood by you in true Child of the Eighties loyalty. we have grown and blossomed together; you into a seasoned and legendary performer... nay.... vocal powerhouse, and i a young man.

however, after watching the popular reality show, filthy rich cattle drive, featuring a daughter that i've been informed you and neil giraldo sired together in a once-blessed-yet-now-cursed union, i feel a powerful compulsion to destroy any record of my participation in, or association with your music. furthermore, i've taken to a "seek and destroy" attitude towards any likeness of you, the mention of your name, or the use of any/all the lyrics from any of your songs in polite conversation (up to and including the words "love," "is," and "battlefield"). in addition, i find myself absently carving "DIE, DIE PAT BENATAR" into my skin, and seriously investigating the possibility of traveling back in time to kill you, therefore eliminating the slightest chance that you might have any additional children whose mere existence threatens the existence of the universe, itself.

please understand that, previous to this past weekend, i could sing every line to "we belong" with the deepest of devotion, so you can imagine my disappointment when i discovered the song did not, in fact, refer to a lost love affair with a man from your past, rather a lost love affair with The Dark Lord, himself; an affair that produced the hellish beast of a she-devil you may or may not claim as your own... pardon the expression... flesh and blood.

how could you do this to us, pat benatar? we loved you so, but now...

well, now i'm left with no choice but to bid you a bitter farewell. i'm not one to judge another person on the character they've instilled in their offspring, but i do have one lingering question for you that i think you'll agree deserves a thoughtful response before we part company for good:

ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND, PAT BENATAR? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND??

why, oh why haven't you commissioned an angry mob of simple, luddite, english farmers to stab at your daughter with greasy pitchforks, hoist her limp, freakish body on their shoulders, carry her to a tidy brick commons, and burn her at the stake, thus ending your abominable insult towards an otherwise loving and providing god? i ask you, pat benatar, ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND??! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!?

thank you and farewell. sincerely-
-R