Dear The Buckcherry Song "Crazy Bitch",

Hey, you know what you Steven-Tyler-big-mouthed fucker? And you, his bandmates, all of you douche bags! You know what? I have to admit, I have never been a fan of your music. Not that I've heard a lot of it, because I believe the last time I heard your ugly carcass sing was about 1998. Regardless. This new mess of barely palatable "music" and "singing" is pretty unbelievable.

Before I rip you a new asshole, I want to preface my statements by saying a few things. Primarily, I'm hardly the kind of girl who would be considered a feminist. Sure, I like all that stuff about not being a baby-making-BJ-giving-honor-and-obeying-fluffy-skirt-wearing-machine, but I wouldn't consider myself even slightly interested in finding and confronting misogyny. But you - you Buckcherry take the fucking cake. Holy shit. I am so mad, I can't even be funny about it.

I'm not sure if the line "You're a crazy bitch, but you fuck so good I'm on top of it" or "Baby girl you want it hard - to be a star you'll get down on it" makes me more furious. Maybe you decide, Buckcherry.

To be honest, at first I thought that this was a joke. Like, the way that Dynamite Hack covered "Boyz in da hood". That was pretty frickin sweet, I don't even care about the whole pimpin' and slappin' stuff it it. You, on the other hand have created something very not sweet. I actually can not believe it is really a song.

I guess what gets me is some Suit, in some record company office had to hear this shit first. There had to have been somebody - anybody - who heard this song before it was released AS A SINGLE. I just picture in my head a guy looking like my dad when he's going to work listening to the garbage in his office, a big office with dark cherry furnishings and a sweet stereo system. He turns it on, perhaps a few other people are around, maybe even Buckcherry in the flesh. It comes out the stereo like diarrhea and around the time the line "take it off, no need to talk, you're crazy but I like the way you fuck me" is sung, the Suit sits back in his big leather desk chair smiling.

"Well, that sounds like a single, fellas. Good work," he tells them, knowing he's going home to his wife and two teenage daughters, none of whom he would personally even tell about this song.

Disgusting. All of it. Eat my ass, Buckcherry.

love,
me