Dear Cherry Chapstick,
I miss you. Were you fake? I didn’t care. Before Russell Brand, before John Mayer, before hanging out with Justin Bieber on his party bus – there was you.
You were designed to appeal to all of us, men and drunk college girls alike. Now you’ve been suppressed. Tragically ignored. Taking your place is cheap titillation, which I respect when it’s done with Mae West candor and wit, but which I roll my eyes at when it’s done with ejaculating cupcake bras.
Oh, how I wish it was 2008 again. That butch Joan Jett haircut, that tacky 80’s wardrobe. That kind of annoying, kind of amazing melody.
You’ve left such a void in my life. Do you know if Lana del Rey has any interest in kissing girls?