Dear John.

Why do you make it so hard to hate you?

You're a buttmunch. That's a term I reserve for you and you alone. That, and douchewad. And you deserve to be called those names. You know it. I know it. Pretty much every woman in the world knows it.

But then you go and put out a fabulous album. Really, really fabulous. The whole thing. There's not a song I'd want to skip.

And then there's that whole being cornea-searing hot thing.

It makes me temporarily forget that I hate you.

But I do--I hate you.

But you know, if you're ever in the area, call me.