dear daddy,
i love you times ten for giving me your credit card number so i could call ticketbastard and buy myself my christmas present, because if trent reznor brings his merry circus to town and i do not go, i never know if it will be the last chance i'll have on this earth. yes, this is one of Those Bands that made That Noise that you used to screw up your face at whenever you walked into my bedroom, the ones that sounded like they were "banging on garbage cans" (and sometimes, they were). as a matter of fact, it is The Very Band that you used to hear right after i slammed my bedroom door at you because we were fighting like, well, a stubborn old englishman and his stubborn half-irish teenage daughter. if i were to play the first minute of the broken EP for you, you would remember it well. and then you would probably say something like, "jesus christ, i'm paying sixty-two dollars so you can go and listen to this on a gigantic sound system? i've got some scrap metal out here in the shop, i'll bang it together for you for free!" but i digress.
now i can go and see the man who would be the father of the only grandchildren you would ever get out of me. don't worry. i'm not counting on it in this lifetime. but just so you know.
love, cianne marie
*SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAL*