An Open Letter to Bruno Mars

Dear Bruno Mars,
I think it's time we sat down and had a little chat. I know you don't feel like doing anything, but look, we can even sit in your bed, and it'll be in person so don't bother picking up the phone. But I'm growing a little concerned at your obsession by this girl who won't kill herself for you.

I know. It seems a little romantic to be all "hey babe, I'd kill myself 3 different ways just to be with you," but unless you're talking to a ghost, there's a wee bit of a problem with this logic: She's alive and well, kicking and dealing with needy men. That is not something ghosts cannot do. Ghosts don't care about needy men--they can be all "oooh, I'm a ghost," and scare the shit out of people and have a good laugh about it. So maybe while you're throwing your head on blades for this chic, she's getting a little freaked out because you're trying to enter a world that she is not in. I know she's got this whole pale look going on, but stop to consider that she uses REALLY light foundation before jumping to the conclusion that she's a vampire and that she's not giving you any because she's undead and all that.

Maybe it's because you expect her screams to sound like something out of Legally Blonde. Think about it.

I mean, you should really consider her feelings here. What if she was on that train, coming to surprise you at your second vacation home, and she saw you jumping in front of it? Do you know how much therapy that would cost her? I'm sure she'd try to stop you--but again, she's not a vampire. She runs at human speed. And human speed doesn't allow people to stop over dramatic fools from leaping in front of trains.

So if you're dead (3 times as dead, because apparently just plain dead is sooo yesterday), you're just gonna be wandering around in limbo for a little bit, because, surprise, she's got you locked out of heaven because she doesn't have the keys! I know it's easy to make copies and all, but think of heaven as a VIP club, and you have to have wings and no pulse to join. I'm sure she'd be happy to open up heaven's door (but Bob Dylan reminds you that you must knock first), but she's just as powerless as you in the situation.

And look, let's not get all Romeo and Juliet here, and force her to kill herself just because you thought she was dead in the first place. That's just rude.

Let's just assume that the girls you fall for are alive, and that you should probably follow Flight of the Conchords' standards before promising your death to chics:

Namaste.