My name is Jacques Doushe.
I think the music scene is dying because I am an aging prick and have a reputation for being a fucking hater so no one would want me to know about their music anyway. I am too much of a blind fucking retard to see that, so I will blame it on musicians and venues. Not that I have any fucking clue what I am talking about, as ANYONE that plays music can tell within reading the first few lines of my lame attempts at sounding like a regular, non-retarded douchebag hater. I fail at this miserably and sadly enough I even try to sound like I have a sense of humor while I do so. I realize it would probably be best for the music scene I claim to cherish if I were to do something even remotely cool with the opportunity given me to share in a public forum. But I’d rather shit talk the few remaining acts in the hope of inspiring the kids to want to be shit-talked by me one day. Even though the kids at the skate park all have friends in a band or are in bands themselves, they thankfully will never burden me with this knowledge. Who doesn’t want a dude with no apparent musical knowledge to shit talk their music? I know I add a spark to the scene, though it is probably indiscernible through my obvious haterism. Golly, I wish all the old bands that would put up with my sorry shit were still playing. I just now noticed that there are reggae bands and DJs everywhere even though they have been a part of the Humboldt music scene forever. Like … fucking forever! Like … where the fuck have I been living? Obviously in my own bubble filled with my own stale farts. Huffing shit wind and hating on people that attempt to entertain me. I am so fucking smart. I’m gonna make it big. Bigger than those shitty musicians! Damn them! Who do they think they are, with their ability to create?! My hack-ass failed attempt at being a curmudgeon columnist is WAY more valid! I hope I am wrong here … really do … but I never am because everyone else is always wronger. I should really suck a bag full of dicks.
— Jacques Doushe
Dear Mr. Dousche,
Thank you for your letter, as it had been quite a while since I felt the grammar Nazi within be baited with such tenacity. I am sorry that my attempts at humorous sarcasm have fallen between the cracks of your collective perception. In the future, I will make jokes so vanilla and obvious that you’d think I had stolen them from Jay Leno. Every band will be awesome, and I’ll bemuse my frustrations over how on Earth is it possible that the bands in our have not won multiple grammys. But as I read your letter again, I realize that you are no such dullard. You, Mr. Dousche, are of an intelligent sort. You believe in the power of satire just as much as I do, with the exception that somehow yours accomplishes a more noble goal. Reading your letter, I am reminded that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and I take your pathetic attempt at lampooning my buffoonish curmudgeonry as nothing more than an encouragement to my antics. Thank you.