This is what it sounds like when fandom goes too far.

The posters were fine. People sometimes buy posters featuring their favorite musicians. That you had forty-three posters hanging in your house and not one photograph of your family was weird, sure, but whatever.

The obsessive scouring of record stores and the Internet for bootlegs, picture discs, and sex tapes? Okay, yeah, that seemed a little bit odd. I mean, I love me some MC Frontalot, but I don’t need a copy of his European debut show on vinyl pressed to look like his head nor do I want to see him naked. Well, I don’t NECESSARILY want to see him naked. He is a good lookin’ man, after all.

And when your mom called me to try to get me to stop you from changing your name to §, I was a good friend and told her she needed to let you be you, no matter how much it pained me to do it. That’s how much I care about you, dude. For real.

But this? This I can not condone. You’re sick, my friend, and I think your obsession with the Purple Monarch of Minneapolis has finally broken your mind. It’s time to get help. No, I do not mean with affixing that wig on that bird’s head. I mean help with fixing your own head.

I’ll admit, though, that the tiny stitching on that costume is pretty impressive.

Wear this shirt: when you are trying to get through this thing called “life”.

Don’t wear this shirt: in front of my father and mother. You know how THEY are.

This shirt tells the world: “To my darling Nikki, with dove.”

We call this color: From The Album Heather Gray Rain

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