A letter to everyone’s favorite red monster
I hope you won’t misconstrue this letter. It’s meant as a kind of constructive note; a little criticism for the monster who’s rarely examined with a critical eye.
Anyway, to be sure, you mean the world to my two-year-old. And I do appreciate the fact that your mind control allows me to sneak away at least once a day to enjoy some private time on the toilet. That’s something I can’t thank you enough for.
But, Elmo, come on. You have to admit you’re a bit of a fame whore lately. Depending on red fur and a high-pitched voice can only get you so far. Take the former mousketeers, for example. Hookers. All of them. From Brit to Xtina to Justin, they’re all just primetime hookers, selling their souls for a few dirty dollars.
Do you, Elmo, want your future filled with music videos where you remove more and more of your clothing until you are forced to wear a skin colored body suit covered in strategically placed sequins? Do you want Brad Pitt to refuse to be in a video where you pretend to commit suicide? Do you want to have your publicist arranging for your drunken escapades to be photographed just so you can have five minutes of attention from the "press"?
Of course not.
That’s why I’m writing this letter, Elmo. I’m afraid you’re sliding down a slippery slope. I mean, that duet with Martina McBride today?
Hideous, Elmo. Just hideous.
Martina looked so uncomfortable that even a Fraggle up her ass couldn’t have made her smile. And you? On with the show at whatever cost, eh, little buddy? Arms flailing, voice shattering glass… you didn’t even care that Martina was struggling. It was all about you, you, you. You were all about the limelight, Elmo. And that’s just a shame.
Isn’t Sesame Street about sharing? Sometimes sharing the limelight makes you stand out more, Elmo. Just ask J. Lo.
All I’m saying, my red friend, is that you’re in the stage of your career where you need to be careful. I know you’re popular, and whatever. But Prince was popular once, too. Now he has to sing acoustic versions of Little Red Corvette just to get people to clap. You don’t want to be trapped like that, Elmo. Can you just imagine? 20 years from now and you’re forced into performing acoustic sets of "Elmo’s World" just to make a buck? Well that’s what happens to primadonnas, Elmo. Even small furry ones. Just ask Art Garfunkel.
Anyway, I know you’re a busy monster, so I’ll wrap this up. (Thanks for having Gordon or whoever read this to you, by the way). Please heed my advice, little dude. You don’t want to end up as Xtina’s pimp one day. And that’s the road you’re heading down right now.
So sit down. Have a heart-to-heart with Dorothy, Mr. Noodle, Shade and whoever else you feel comfortable opening up to. Figure out where you want to be in 5, 10, 20 years. And then go on vacation. Relax. Shut your screaming mouth for a day or two. Enjoy a sunset. Watch the world go by. Learn to read. Getting out of the playhouse can do wonders for you.
Then maybe the next time you’re dueting with Martina or Mandy or Brandy or even Michael Stipe you’ll have learned to share the spotlight.
Don’t be Fame’s bitch, Elmo. Ask Pee Wee. It’s just not worth it.