Dear Def Leppard

Today I have decided to participate in "Letter of Intent"presented by Julie over at Foursons.

Now a warning: this is gonna be an explicit letter. You know, sort of a "Sex, Lies and Videotape" type post only without the lies and videotape but with some Heavy Metal added in and some cussing. Turn back now if you are in any way offended by these things!  Ok...consider yourself warned...

Dear Def Leppard,

On Monday evening, August 24, BSP and I attended your concert in Englewood, Colorado. So did many, many others. However, BSP and I paid mega bucks for awesome seats. As in, right next to the stage. I won't share the $$ amount we put out for these choice seats because I still find it hard to believe we actually paid that much to see anyone including you.

I've been a Lep fan for many, many years. Like 27 to be precise. Your songs have been the background music to lots of mind blowing sex in those 27 years. I've had some amazing drunken and yes, in my younger days, stoned nights with your music screaming in the background. I know every word to nearly every song you've ever written and I have purchased nearly album you've ever released. Sadly, I fear we must part ways.

Let me be clear, you guys rocked. You always do. However, because of the up close and personal "I can reach out and touch you and see your facial expressions" seats that we had, I am very disappointed. No, make that pissed off.

No, all five of you didn't piss me off, just two of you. Joe Elliott and Phil Collen. Your shitty "we have to go out and perfom YET AGAIN" attitude was written clearly all over your faces.

Joe, I know you're 50 and you've been doing this a long time but you are not the hottest man walking the planet. In fact, the view of you from behind is sadly the same view of many, many other 50 year old men. You're thick around the waist and you really have no ass to write home about. BSP, at 51 years old, has you beat to hell and back. Seriously. You should see the man naked. But I digress. I know you are amazingly talented but you are not the most talented man walking the planet. It certainly doesn't give you the right to just grab some chick's drink and take a big ole swig like you are God's gift. Honestly. Did you see the expression on said chick's face? She was less than thrilled and looked down into her glass like she thought there might be an STD floating in there doing the back stroke.

Phil, put a shirt on. I can't be more plainly spoken here. Your back is zitty. No, not pussy zitty but zitty nonetheless. Eeeww. And do you really need to bump and grind that quitar constantly? Seriously? Doesn't that get a little old? Aren't YOU a little old to be doing that? And, like Joe, you are not God's gift to women. That ship has sailed. Years ago.

Now to be fair to Viv, Sav & Rick, you guys were awesome. You never had the "I can't believe we have to do this again" looks on your faces and Rick, you will always be the Thunder god! THANK YOU for coming down from your drum kit and showin' the love to the crowd at the end of the concert. You are a class act!

And just to be fair to all of you, including Joe and Phil, thank you for not reacting in any way to the hooters those two much younger than me gals put on display on the other side of the stage. Even I have to admit they were impressive hooters. Or that could just be middle aged me comparing them to my very sad hooters. Either way, I appreciate that you didn't stare, comment, smile or acknowlege the very impressive hooters in any way.

Finally Joe and Phil, you could both take a lesson from Brett Michaels. He LOVED on the fans! And I'm not sayin' that just because he came to me not once but twice and let me sing with him in the microphone. Ok, that might be a part of it. But you can tell Brett and the Boys love to perform, love the fans for keeping their music alive and they truly seem to get that the economy sucks and it's awesome that people still pay big to see them live.

So, it's been a great run fella's but this 42 year old rock and roller is movin on. Thanks for the memories.

P.S. Brett, call me!  We'll do lunch!