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Dear Trent,

You and I spent some quality time together last night, baby. I happened to be in London for a job, and decided to celebrate Independence Day Trent-style, so I went to watch you burn the Brixton Academy down with your blisteringly hot ass and fucking powerhouse performance. By the time it was over, I was superlatively spent, and believe me when I tell you that I totally saw fireworks.

I've asked it before, and I have to ask you again: how did you ever manage to become such a dirty, dirty little bitch?  Sweet Jesus Fuck, Trent, that show was just so PELVIC. It was as if your jock was inexorably drawn to your microphone stand, and your tight little hips could not stop bucking. While you sang "Suck", you even drew them back and arched your back a little for the return thrusts, as if you were fucking every single one of us. And that look on your face? I almost lost consciousness due to the intensity of my desire to devour you with entirely unlady-like voraciousnes while you were whispering how dirty you are on the inside.

I can imagine, baby. Believe me.

Trent, when I was an innocent young girl, and you got under my skin with the Self-Destruct tour, I thought you were hot; but like a lot of girls, I also worried about you. You seemed a little bit out of your fucking mind. That guy, back then, looked like a guy who needed something, and like a lot of girls, I fully would have been delighted to give it to you. But, that guy back then was a guy you'd LET fuck you,  because he needed to fuck all the dirty little things that were in him out, and a soft-hearted girl loves a beautiful, if tortured, artistic soul. She only wants to help. No doubt he'd have talked dirtier than she'd ever heard before, and would have sunk his sexy snaggleteeth into a her shoulder and bitten down a little too hard when he came.

Not that there's anything wrong with Mr. Desperate Biter, but this guy I saw last night? This is a guy who you WANT to fuck you because he looks like he'd be fucking good at it. Every minute of that show was pure porn. It looked and felt like the way the guitar kicks in at the beginning of "Physical (You're So)" -- like a filthy grind, played by a guy with good hands and an unerring instinct for how to work his tight, fucking HOT little hips. Suffice it to say that if last night had been the finals in the sexy little bitch Olympics, you would have won the gold medal, baby. Any girl at that show who claims she didn't totally want a piece of that is FUCKING LYING.

Jesus. How hot can one man be? Do you have to go and be a genius on top of it all? OMG, Trent. I'd say I love the fucking hell out of you, but I don't want all the hell to get out. Still, I have the feeling that even if I fucked the hell out of you, you'd make more, and then I'd no doubt have to fuck it out of you again; a vicious 'n' delicious cycle. Mmmmmm. I can get started whenever you're ready.

I met a guy there, from Norway, with positively glorious bone structure and that hairstyle you used to have in the earl y 90's. He was a little drunk, and couldn't keep his hands off my ass, but he was sweet. I made out with him for a few minutes after the show so that I could close my eyes and imagine it was your tongue in my mouth, but he wasn't you, and his kiss wasn't all it could have been, so I bowed-out of going back to his for a drink so I could go back to my hotel room and say your name while I took care of business more expediently than any fumbling, half drunk young man could ever manage. I was in a hurry.

I just want you to know, Trent, that when I do it, I only think of you. Also, I want you to know that when I speak that sentence, I pronounce the "t" in "it" hard, just like you do.

Unfortunately, though, this brings me to a sad moment. I'll no longer be writing you these letters on WTC, my darling. Things have just gone too far between Gabriel and me, and his last post really just hurts. I know he only photoshopped "Dierdre Sucks" onto your shirt, but it still made me cry. I know you understand my love, Trent, I'm not worried about that; but of all the hate in the world, Gabriel's is the most unexpected. For as long as he's known me, and we've shared this passion for you, I just don't understand how he can think that my love for you is shallow, or skin deep; and I really don't understand why he thinks I am full of hate when all I ever do is bring the love. It hurts, and I don't want to continue to work with him on WTC.

Trent, please know that where ever I am, you'll always be inside me. I'll be walking around, feeling you in my bones, no matter how far away you are. My love is real, Trent. Seriously. And, perhaps, if you're lucky, I'll just start posting my missives in the access section of your website.

I love you, baby, and I want you to fuck me like an animal.


PS. My dear readers, thank you ever so much for your support. I'm sorry it's come down to this. I know. It's hard to believe.

PPS. Good bye forever, Gabriel.

Posted by Dierdre ~ in dear_trent, live_inch_nails | Permalink


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Once again with the dramatics, D. We all know you're not serious about leaving.

I'm glad you had fun at the concert but seriously -- grow the fuck up. We have shit to discuss.

Posted by: Gabriel | Jul 5, 2005 12:14:39 PM

i'm really sad your leaving Dierdre.

Posted by: Jen | Jul 5, 2005 3:52:36 PM

Amazing as usual, Dierdre. I have to,um, borrow that picture for a few minutes...wait, what's this? And...but...no...you...goodbye? You can't leave us like this, like a warm French lover with a cold, cruel heart. Gabriel is nothing without you. It's not his fault that he's a man without emotional cognizance. They're all that way in the end. It's the Y chromosome; they can't help it. Please...come back. Since he won't beg, I will.

Posted by: Buttercup_J | Jul 5, 2005 4:56:37 PM


Posted by: minion | Jul 6, 2005 6:31:08 PM

This review is kinda hot, Dierdre. Thanks.

Posted by: guess who? | Jul 8, 2005 11:35:31 AM

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