Lauryn... Lauuuuuuryn? Lauryn?: Last Letter from Your #1 Fan

Dear Miss Hill:

I'm sorry, I just can't hold this any longer. As President of the Lauryn Hill Fan Club - Western Hemisphere, I've been waiting for your comeback for Godknowshowlong. I've held my breath well beyond turning blue. Now, I'm black... and bitter... and BELLIGERENT!!!

To prevent any further heartache (on my part), I'm sending you this final notice. I'm calling it QUITZ! SAYONARA, BABY!!! YOU'RE GONNA MISS THIS GOOD THING, MISS THING! Find yourself a new number one fan, cause this number one fan has HAD IT! HAD IT!!! {in as high-pitched and neurotic a voice as possible} HAD IT!!!!

But before I say so-long forever, here's a brief recap of what pushed me over the edge:

First, there was the two-hour acoustic tragedy on MTV Unplugged, which you had the nerve to try to sell as a double-CD for $20. Three chords for two WHOLE hours. Should I tell you how I bought a back-up VCR to make sure I could record that trash? Should I tell you how I turned off all of my lights, closed my blinds, unplugged my phone, drew a long bath, lit candles, prepared a dinner - all to set the perfect mood for you! Should I also tell you how many times I watched and rewatched that sh*t to try to convince myself that I was watching virtuosity, when in fact, I was watching UTTER CATASTROPHE.

Then, there was the sham of a website peddling blurry autographed polaroids of yourself for five hundred dollars! Five hundred dollars?

QUESTION: Do you know what happens to a man who has wandered in the desert for weeks?

ANSWER: If you placed a pot of piss in front of him, he would drink it!

How dare you leave that out there for us! And you still haven't taken the site down. Five hundred dollars. Hmmmph. You oughta be paying us for sticking with you! You psychoderanged biyotch!!!

And let's not even start on your most recent... er... performances:

The Kool NuJazz Concert series in Atlanta - one of only two scheduled performances in the whole world for all of 2004: You called in sick. A no-show. Do you know how far people drove to see you? How they planned? The babysitters? The rent-a-cars? The planes? The hotels? The thousands of cleared weekends? Do you hear us, Miss Hill? Can you hear us?

We'll just pretend that you weren't even billed for an appearance in Berlin for the Live 8 concert last weekend. Disappearance was more like it.

And we won't even mention the robotic poetry reading last month on HBO's Def Poetry Jam.

But we will mention your opening the BET Music Awards and that horrendous mushroom wig. What the HELL was that? Obviously, your wig is flipped!

And what about the VIBE MusicFest, also in Atlanta, in which your bizarre performance neither dazed nor amazed, but rather confused? Upon your arrival (which, I might add was 4 hours late), you demanded that all people backstage either 1) be banished from your queendom or 2) turn their noses into the corner, so as not to gaze upon you as you passed. I wish I woulda been backstage. I wish you might ask me to turn my back on you...

So, here I am, turning my back on you. I would say it's been great knowing you, but apparently I don't know you at all!

So, adios, ciao-ciao, good-bye to WhoEverYouAreYouImpostorAlienWitch-
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Signed,



WakeMeWhenItsOver

To read one man's unabridged account of her collapse, read here.