Dear DJ Quelquefois’ iTunes,
You and I know full well you didn’t perform like you promised. You teased me – pretended to be easy – easy like Sunday morning. Like migrating from one external hard drive to another was something you could do in my G4’s sleep. Like even though you’d never done it, you’d seen all the movies – read all the books. But really you were a basket case in a chastity belt. And inside that belt – all of my treasured, over-analyzed playlist fantasies. You really expect me to believe you had to lose them first in order to give me what I want? Which is access to my entire library! Here you’re opening your robe – showing me the full glory of 16,000+ songs waiting to fill my ear-belly, but when I try to listen – you tell me eh eh eh – I don’t know what you’re talking about. That I’m crazy and this bounty might as well not exist?! You are an impudent strumpet.
And you made me make a playlist at 6am the day of class that resembled the arc of a drug-addled evening with friends, blacking out, then waking up in bed with a stranger. You couldn’t even recollect the names of 3 songs in the middle! You just knew what number they were. You really are one piece of work, iTunes. One piece of goddamn work.
Yeah – that’s right, iTunes. You could even make a baby furious. Happy now?