Our response, as an open letter:

Hey, Man. I was flipping through the channels on the radio the other day, and I paused when I heard the DJ say your new song was coming on. They said it was called, “Best Love Song,” and, at 7 in the morning, I was in the mood to have my heart melted by a girlfriend beater.

I see you got your boy, T-Pain, up in there. That guy’s a genius. I have never heard someone rhyme “treble” with “level” before. On top of that, the auto-tune really adds depth to the lyrics. I was totally psyched for you to sing the best love song ever because T-Pizzle kept telling the “whole club” to listen up. (I assume my Ford Focus will suffice as a club.)

Now, I’ve gotta tell you one thing, Chris. I listened to that whole damn song, and I think you made a huge mistake. You never actually started the best love song! You told me you were “bout to sing” and do it just the way I like, but it never happened.

This girl must be pretty special to you because you keep reminding us how loud you have to sing and how she has to hear how you feel. (Hope you’re not about to put her in her place.) So where’s the rest of the song?

Where’s the line about me bein’ your “boo?” Or the line about my booty being day-amn fine? What about how you’re gonna be buyin’ your “shawty” all the finest bling? Chris. These are things that every good love song contains.

I know you’re probably a little embarrassed right now. (Heard you bleached your hair. That sucks.) It’s ok, Chris. I’ll let this one slide like so many other things in your life.

Sincerely,
Heidi Schatz