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  • Christina Fotinelli

Dear Ryder,

Xavier Stockwell (17) is the newly ousted, bass guitarist of a high-school garage rock band. An introverted, sensitive child who was too shy to make friends, he focused instead on his musical proclivities becoming remarkably good. Rarely without his piccolo, Xav was a happy boy, immune to the mocking of his peers until he fell in love. A social outcast though not an idiot, he knew he didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell to win over Jinny Kim's affection, so he decided a dramatic transformation was necessary.

Dear Ryder,

I’m normally a happy bloke. My mother raised me to be an optimist and always look on the bright side of life. Some might go as far as calling me effervescent. Cup half full, lemonade, rose-tinted glasses, yada yada, you get the drill. Therefore, it pains me to point out that your latest act has brought me to a dark, dark place. It was a vile move, even for you. #backstabber #judas

Stealing my sandwich is one thing. Borrowing my smokes and not replacing them is another. Taking my fake ID to buy yourself a beer, even that can be overlooked but stealing my riff and my girl then kicking me out of the band....? That's fascism!

I put your shite band on the map. All you had in your pathetic repertoire were naff Sonics and Kinks tributes. I gave you original compositions. I got you a spot in the Homecoming pep rally. I cinched the quarter finals in the Little Green Valley's “Battle of the Bands”. But #newsflash gobshite, even I couldn't get The Raw Giblets into the semis.


I did not drag myself out of my shell and put aside my beloved piccolo for the bass guitar only to get kicked in the goolies by a mentally challenged tyrant like you. You think because you have facial hair, are tall, and cheerleaders pin their panties to your locker that you can get away with dicking over the little-guy and taking all the glory? Not this time, Francisco. Jinny fell for my music. She loved my jams. She hums my tunes. Mine!

I know Cedar High is a prison but it's not a totalitarian regime, yet. So you better make this right Englebert.


You actually brought out a lot of unresolved anger in me, Ryder so I have decided to forgive you. I've been writing like crazy. I guess Aldous Huxley had a point when he said:

"Perhaps it's good for one to suffer. Can an artist do anything if he's happy? Would he ever want to do anything? What is art, after all, but a protest against the horrible inclemency of life?"

You'd know who he was, moron, if you paid attention in Miss Branley's English lit class. But bygones. I'm reunited with my piccolo. The Muse is back. The juices are flowing. I'm on fire!

Besides, Jinny turned out to be hard work. She texted me all the time. She wanted to hang out, be out, put out. She didn't understand my artistic temperament or my need for communion with the Muse. She was a taker, she always wanted something from me. Actually, you two are made for each other!

When I'm rocking a sold-out Royal Albert Hall and you're listening in on a stolen wi-fi connection, on a flip phone, from a caravan, you'll wish you had handled all this better. #eatmydustbitchesandwatchmesoar


PS. Your lyrics suck and yes, your D7 is out of tune.

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