Dear Trent Reznor

First off, I just want to thank you. Because, in 1990, as an angst-ridden teen stuck in southern Indiana, I really needed you, and you were there. Full of crazy techno alt-rock loathing, your music really spoke to me. You were full of sixteen year old stuck in the cornfields suck suck suck. It was before the Internet, so what else was I to do but drive around in my 1986 Delta '88 and blast head like a hole? I'll tell you what. Nothing.

But, in the subsequent decade and a half I've broadened my horizons a bit and since have other types of angst to fulfill my deepest darkest self, stuff like mortgages, alcohol, and making fun of shit on the fabulous newfangled Internet.

But you? Trent.

I heard you on the radio today. You were still so full of teen angst that I almost detatched my retinas while rolling my eyes. Trent, you've got to be pushing forty. Take a walk, take a nice bath, read a book. Especially the book part.

Don't make me call you a loser.

Loser.