Dear Marilyn Manson,
You are embarrassing me. For serious, yo. I’m kind of not wanting to be your friend right now. In case you didn’t know, at my age, admitting that I like you is kind of like admitting that I wear spider man pajama pants to bed. Being a long time fan of yours and actually owning up to it in public is not always easy, alright? It’s kind of like making the decision that you’re going to be picked on well into adulthood. I’ve always stood by you, man. And sometimes, attending art school in Chicago, that shit has been rough. The hipster kids will always try to relate to me, when I tell them that you and me are tight. They’ll be like “Oh, Marilyn Manson. He had some cool albums, mostly in the early to mid nineties.” They don’t mean it though, Marilyn. I can see my buddies rolling their eyes behind their black thick-rimmed glasses, and shifting uncomfortably in their vintage cowboy boots. I’ll be honest, they hate you, dude. They all hate you. I’m even starting to hate you, and you and me go way back. This is mostly related to the way you’ve been behaving in the past few years or so. I think that through your recent actions, you and I have experienced a rift in the way that we relate to each other. What I’m trying to say is that it’s hard for me to take up for you when you go out of your way to act like Paris Hilton in gothic clothes. Straighten out your garter belt and have some self-respect. You and me are gonna have us a little talk.
First off I want you to know, that the comeback album you just released, titled “Eat Me, Drink Me”, is not a comeback album. That’s to say—its not a come back if nobody knows that your back. And you know why it is, that nobody knows Marilyn? It’s because your new album was some shit. “If I was your Vampire”? How about if I was a thirteen-year-old kid that was dumb enough to blow two weeks allowance on an album with a song titled “If I was your Vampire”? Then I guess you would be my vampire, wouldn’t you, ya little bitch? How unfortunate for you, that instead I download some of these tracks off of limewire before making any such purchase. Now on the track I just mentioned, the name of which I won’t repeat again, because it’s simply too pansy-sounding, you begin the melancholy ballad with the lines “Six AM. Christmas morning.” As I understand, this was the approximate time that your wife, uber hot burlesque dancer Dita Von Teese decided to pack her stuff and leave you for good—prompting you to finally, after a three year absence, produce an album in which you piss and moan about your divorce. I am trying to figure why, as your fan, I should give a shit about this. Your divorce—or the fact that it was finalized on Christmas morning. Last time I checked, you were supposed to be the Antichrist. I didn’t know you did Christmas morning. But even if I were to excuse your Christmas tantrum, and pretend to consider it as stellar as some of your past output, I still wouldn’t be able to get past the indie meets butt rock quality that seems to encompass most of the songs. Marilyn…man. Son, I was drunk when I heard all of your new stuff on my computer, so I made sure to give it all a second try once I sobered up. And to my sick amazement, I still couldn’t find a single thing that I remotely liked. “Eat Me, Drink Me”? I wouldn’t even listen to this mess. You are the staunchest defender of your own work, and you’ll probably tell the press that people just don’t get it. But you must recognize deep in the dark prune pit of your heart that this is really just about the worst thing you’ve ever done. In fact, it’s a direct result of your mid life crisis.
Now this leads me to my next point. Mid life crisis, Marilyn? I didn’t even know you were allowed to have one. Again with my point about being the Antichrist. Your whole life is supposed to be an unholy crisis. Now you’re a walking crisis. This whole new look of yours? First off, what’s with all the red lipstick? You look like you were molesting Robert Smith, and the whole time he was punching you on the side of the head, but you just kept eating his face. I know you like to go heavy on the make up, but lately, you’ve been prancing around like a disgruntled Revlon factory. And then theres your brand new emo hair cut. What kind of statement are you trying to make with that, dickboy? That you’re just so torn up about this you have to hang your bangs in your face like some fourteen-year-old girl? If that’s not enough evidence of your post rock n roll depression, then there's your current girl friend Evan Rachel Wood. She starred in the movie thirteen, because she looks like she’s about that old. In case you need a refresher, she is twenty, you are forty. You were recently quoted saying that the two of you were soul mates. That’s about as cute as beautiful Britney Spears shaving her damn head.
You wanna know the only thing that’s more disturbing than Evan Rachel Wood doing it in the movies with an older black dude? Evan Rachel Wood doing it with you! Honestly, I guess I could throw you some props for hopping on the Lolita train, but since you called her your soul mate, I’m thinking you need help. Not the kind that the scandal magazines are claiming you need, either. You don’t need to talk to a therapist, or consult a close family member for support in this sensitive period of yours. Fuck that! You are Marilyn Manson! If you want my opinion, I think you should do some cocaine. You do need an intervention…with some hard drugs. Instead of putting on a show for the paparazzi, why don’t you hide out for a while in a New Orleans basement, put something up your nose and try to get back in touch with some of that real darkness? I guess your getting to old for that, huh? Someone oughtta smack you upside the head.
Instead, I hear you are currently embarking on a tour with SLAYER. This is by far the worst thing you could do right now. Slayer is just about the most metal thing that ever happened, and you, well your music has not been on that same plane of aggression lately. A lot of Slayer fans already want to kill you, but now you are giving them more reason to try and do so. I think that when you take the stage the Slayer fans are going to call you names. Lots of unkind, homophobic names, which I’d dare not repeat in this letter. Hopefully, they will not chuck anything at you that’s going to mess up your hair. I’d hate to hear you had a breakdown in the middle of the All State Arena.
In closing, I have to tell you. Straight up, Marilyn. I’m sick of your bullshit. You are a theatrical performer, but your personal theatrics are some of the most pathetic I’ve ever witnessed. To review, you need to diss your own album, drop your new look, sever your pederastic, soul-searching love connection, and while your at it you should drop the tour. Everybody likes an Antichrist but nobody likes a whiner. Do some drugs and try to get over Ms. Dita Von Teese. Honestly, she has a great body but her face looks like post war Germany. It’s a cold world and you’ve said so yourself. Until you succeed in making some personal growth, I guess this is goodbye. I would like to say, “I’ll see you in hell, Marilyn.” But I’m not sure if you’re allowed there anymore.
Yours Truly,
Mr. MUG
Hey Church of Coolniks!
