"Dear Sharpwits-

Glad to see your departure from your normally ever so compelling topic of telling us about "tools", who sell their souls to Pop Culture. Oh wait that's you! I'm sure your girlfriend will be ever so impressed to find a song dedicated to her, that she will induct you into the mook hall of fame. Way to go! Whats next: a link to the John Mayer fan club. Eat shit. It will be less offensive to the senses than the lyrics you posted.

Sincerely,

Your Motherfuckin Conscience"

- Well, as I appreciate the criticism, if I really cared what others thought I'd probably be a lot more popular.

I'd probably be a lot more popular because I'm sure I'd have a nice expensive wardrobe updated yearly (say about Christmas time) courtesy my parents.

I'd probably be famous amongst my friends with extensive, albeit USELESS, knowledge of the latest sports news - trades - standings - and historical statistics. So famous indeed that I'd enter mock, a.k.a. FANTASY, sports leagues because nothing would display the importance of my knowledge of physically competitive entertainment like the electronic bartering of their virtual trading cards. 'Magic' meets sports cards .... now that sounds like my key to success.

Popularity would haunt me as I drove around in my cookie-cutter, yet popular, SUV ... displaying my ability to guzzle gas while unknowingly cut off other motorists due to my gi-normous blind spots.

I'd most likely leave all others jealous of my ability to sing along with the music of a culture and a race completely to the opposite of mine. Just knowing about the genre of music itself is grounds to make the masses love me, because when it comes to popularity ... it's "Move bitch, get out tha way, get out tha way bitch, get out tha way" that really gets them wet.