Dear Radio DJ
My name is Elliot Laudermilk and I would like to personally thank you for playing that Bastille song every hour relentlessly for the past 6 months. It’s the best song anyone will ever hear. You know the song I am talking about: it starts out with this tomb-like chanting and proceeds to rock my balls out every hour. It’s called “Pompeii” and it is a-okay with me! Not since Chumbawumba have I heard such classic grooves!
Personally, I do not know why people are running, yes running from typical FM radio and moving onto things like streaming internet radio stations like Pandora or Spotify. It’s like, hello, who does not want to hear the same 7 or 8 songs in a continuous loop for 24 hours a day?
The reason I am writing is that I noticed now that you are playing the song every two hours instead of every single hour and quite frankly, I’m a little concerned. Are you slowly taking the song out of rotation? Does this song have a half-life of only 6 months? I sure hope not. To my recollection, I have only heard the song 4,100 times since it premiered back in November and that is not nearly enough. No, I need to hear that song about 50,000 more fucking times please. Do you think you could make that happen? I sure hope so. Sincerely.
Whether it is the first time I ever heard the song or the 4,000th, my reaction is always the same: pure unadulterated joy, a smile from ear to ear, as well as a renewed vigor in my step, and it will continue that way until you take it off the air. Well, either until you take it off the air or I get the various brain parasites removed.
Personally, I do not believe there is any substantial correlation between the brain parasites and my love for your radio station. I think the doctors are way, way off base here. I think it is completely normal that the more you play a particular song, the less I get sick of it. That makes sense, doesn’t it? So please, while others may be writing or calling your station, begging, pleading, screaming for you to shut the fuck up with that particular song, just remember me, Elliot Laudermilk, frolicking around his room with the quiet, majestic beauty of a butterfly’s queef, applauding your efforts to reach the magical number of 50,000.
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