Dear Mr. Tyler of Aerosmith

Re: Love In An Elevator

I am writing to express my extreme distaste at the subject matter addressed within your “metal crowd-pleaser”.

A lift is not a squalid “rock and roll boudoir” or carnal playroom, merely at your disposal in order for you to carnally prey upon the flunkeys, floozies and “friends of the band” that associate with your entourage. It is a kinetic carriage moving rapidly up and down a shaft in order to satisfy its incumbents' need to alight conveniently on the correct floor. Not only are your pop orgies within such a receptacle completely off-limits socially; they may also at some juncture place sufficient strain upon the supporting traction cables. This may either cause it to stick between levels or else snap completely, resulting in you “going down” at speed far faster than you deem comfortable. For these reasons, you are advised to confine your love life to your “trailer” and use the vertical transportation system for its intended purpose only, especially in the company of other users.

I must say that I am a little flummoxed by your group's “moniker” which suggests that you are running a “sideline” alongside your main business of making hits. I confess to knowing little of such matters, and forgive me if I “talk this way”, but I would posit that to be roasting cocoa beans in a furnace prior to shaping the resulting substance into “bubbly” chocolate bars through the use of a hammer and anvil may not be the most efficient method of production. I certainly would not like to eat confectionery “struck” in this way.

With these points in mind I will be sticking to alternative snacks, and certainly not knowingly entering any building in which I believe you to be ensconced, unless it be a bungalow, other single storey erection, or place where a stairway were the only method of ascent or descent.


Wilf Turnbull

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