Dear 2009,
You see? That's just embarrassing. And I can't believe you entered your name as "2009 In Da Hizzouse!" It's the new sonofabitchin' decade, 2009. Get with it. Also, you're a total bro. Dial it down a bit.
[Full letter after the jump]
Anyway, I'm moving on. I'm sorry. Very sorry, in fact, because honestly, we had some great times together. Remember that time we kept making fun of 2000 for totally not being able to live up to his hype? I was all like "Y2K? More like Y2-lame!" and you chimed in with a reassuring laugh and "Yeah, bro. Y2-LAME!" That was pretty cool. And remember when all the other years were insulting you about your economic dysfunction? They kept chanting "2009 has ED" over and over, remember? Ok, so maybe I had to pull you aside and explain to you just why their insult was a pun and fine, maybe I joined in for like two or three chants but I totally defended you when I shot back "Did any of you make a super star like Lady Gaga?" 1998 started to say "Excuse me, Britney Spe-" but I quickly reminded him that, oh yeah, she's a certified lunatic and he shut the hell up. Remember that, 2009? And dude, I don't even like Lady Gaga. I have my suspicions...
And yes, if I'm right then my comeback for 1998's smart mouth will make no sense but that remains to be seen.
Point is, 2009, I was there for you. We were there for each other. But like I said before, it's time to move on. I'd like to say that this is a "it's not you, it's me" situation but well, let's face it. It's not. It's very much you. That's not to say you were all bad. You played home to about 40 billion vampires trying to make it as big as those sparkly ones from "Twilight." You were host to a gigantic year for Taylor Swift and if you can show me a single soul who can honestly say that they have never once at least hummed along to one of Swift's songs I'll punch them in the face for lying to me.
2009, we have to go our separate ways. It has to be done. 2010 is just... just the right fit for me right now. Look, maybe I'll email you in a while or something. And maybe we can grab lunch and relive the old days once or twice. But other than that, you need to stop calling, texting and... sexting me. Don't make me call up Father Time and have him lasso your ass into whatever chrono-retirement home you years are forced to rot away in.
Goodbye, 2009. I'll miss you. But hey, look on the bright side. You're totally eligible for a VH1 retrospective now.
Sincerely,
Alexander Jon Skjong
