Kanye West is the worst thing that has ever happened to pop culture. He is an arrogant, pompous, vapid human being whom I shouldn’t even be writing about. However, my mom always told me that writing a letter is the best way to release your frustration to someone, so here it is: my letter to Yeezy himself.
Dear Mr. West.
Let me start by saying that I never liked your music. I didn’t mind hearing your nursery rhyme-like rap music blowing through the speakers of passing cars, neither did I mind the fact that your mouth and brain appeared permanently disconnected. I just thought that you were a loose cannon who would eventually exhaust yourself and become outdated like Vanilla Ice or Carrot Top.
Yet here I am, 12 years later, baffled that you are still a fixture in pop culture. The only reason that I will not admit to myself that I hate you is because I think your daughter is adorable, and it would be a bit hypocritical to hate you and love your daughter. With that being said, I have written down a few reasons why I think you should be exiled and placed on an uninhabited island with your wife, music and overpriced clothing line.
The first reason is simple. I think you’re annoying. I can’t think of any other celebrity who gets under my skin more than you. I would gladly rather work as an immigrant staff member for Donald Trump than sit and listen to anything you ever have to say. When I hear you speak, all I can think about is a caveman conversing with someone through a series of grunts and moans. That’s really what you sound like to me, a caveman who took a time machine to the 21st century whom no one understands. The ironic thing is that I don’t think that you’re stupid; I just think that you may need a therapist to find out what’s going in that massive head of yours. Better yet, maybe you should consider getting a CAT-scan or MRI to see if something is anatomically wrong with you.
In addition to being annoying ― I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news ― but your sense of style is nauseating. I don’t care if it’s Yeezy Season one, two or three, all of your clothes remind me of an old tattered washcloth. I won’t even comment on those weirdly shaped space boots that you’re trying to pass off as high fashion, and, as a matter of fact, I’m just waiting for NASA to hit you with a lawsuit. Don’t get me wrong, Mr. West; I’m all for pushing the boundaries and making fashion statements, but all you seem to be doing is pushing me into insanity with your pathetic designs. What’s even more irksome about your clothing line is that your wife has put her hedonistic ways behind her to assume the role of “Yeezy Ambassador.”
As a wife, I think the least she could do is tell you the truth about your designs. Instead, she wears them everywhere and forces North to wear them, too. I never disliked Kim. She was always someone I looked up to when I failed an exam. I mean, if she could get famous from a mistake, then I could definitely bounce back from one bad exam. However, after you guys got married, she not only took your last name, but she took your annoying ways as well. Anyway, when you guys get divorced, I’m sure she’ll go right back to being the adorable narcissist whom Americans love to hate.
I know I sound like a hater, but I’m really not ― I’d like to think of myself as a “disliker,” and I know that there are people out there who really love you. That doesn’t mean anything to me because I’m sure there are people out there who love Kim Jong-Un, so I’m not worried about your fans.
One more thing: I was wondering if you could do us regular people a favor and shut up. Just take an oath of silence for the rest of your life, or at least until you get the Carrot Top-level of fame where no one cares about you. There are a few more paragraphs that I have left in me, but, for now, I think I’ve said enough.
