I guess it all started when Taylor Swift wrote that damn song about me. I mean I’m just a middle-aged blogger, why did the biggest star in America have to pick on ME? She’s beautiful, talented, rich and possesses one hell of a singing voice. Everybody has a bad day, just because hers was on the Grammys doesn’t mean I have a right to excoriate her. Then again, I was stupid enough to admit I was the protagonist of the song, unlike John Mayer, but did she have to go on Jay Leno and out me? That hurts. And everybody knows I’m thin-skinned. My dad died, my wife left me, doesn’t she know if I don’t see my psychiatrist I’m gonna commit suicide?

But what’s worse is my readers. It doesn’t matter what I say or do, they still believe I fly on the Spotify jet, that Irving Azoff writes me a check every month, that I wrote good words about Jimmy Iovine because he sent me a case of Beats to fence on the black market. In a country where everybody’s on the take, where politicians are indicted on a regular basis, it doesn’t pay to be honest.

So I’m stopping. Giving up. Going over to the dark side.

No, I’m not going to work for Doug Morris, hell, I’m not even going to work for Live Nation, there’s just not enough money involved. Irving’s busy chasing billionaires, but you just can’t make it in music, you’ve got to go where the money is, finance.

Oh, it’s been done before. Check the CVs of Bruce Wasserstein and Steve Rattner. They woke up, chucked aside their journalistic aspirations and went where the real power was, investment banking.

And why not. Everybody thinks I’m wealthy anyway. I make a facetious comment about being rich and my inbox blows up with people castigating me for being a one percenter. You’d have thought I was giving away Facebook stock. I’m sick of being poor, now I truly am going to be rich.

No, I turned down Lloyd Blankfein. We may look similar, we may both be follically challenged, but do you think I still want to be in the public eye after what I’ve been through?

No, I’m going to work for a hedge fund in Greenwich. My mother’s getting older by the minute, I’ve rented a condo in Westport, Connecticut, halfway between her and work, until I get my bearings, get some cash and buy a house.

No, I’m not going to tell you the name of the firm. You wouldn’t know it anyway.

They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I brought in my black book. I’m tapping every relationship I have for cash. Everybody from Paul McGuinness to Don Henley. Even Donnie Ienner and Tommy Mottola. If you’re wealthy, expect to hear from me.

As for the rest of you…it’s payback time.

I’ve sold my list to so many marketers I can afford a year in the Maldives. You’re gonna be spammed to high heaven. You always think I’m selling my list anyway, so why not do it?

I’m all about the cash now baby. I gave you all that information for free and all you did was bust my balls. I can’t even say something negative about Groupon. The stock tanks after I write, but you’re so busy drinking at the trough of your insignificant income, proud to be poor, that you can’t see that you’ve been sold a bill of goods.

So I’m leaving you behind.

Music’s done anyway.

You ruined it. You stole those MP3s and now music executives are homeless and even Bruce Springsteen has to go to SXSW to shill his new album. There’s no money left. Jay-Z and Dre make more money off of non-music ventures and all you’ve got left in music is wannabes. Blecch.

If you’re smart, you’ll follow me. Thinking you can make a living in music is like believing you can win the lottery. And you think it takes just as much skill. Nada. I went to college, I went to law school, I’m done with you, I’m going behind the gate and throwing away the key, only flying private from now on.

Look, I get it. You can’t have people like Lefsetz writing whatever he wants, pissing off teenagers like Taylor Swift. If you let him loose he’ll ruin radio, television, newspapers…who knows what’s next. He’s got way too much power. Otherwise why would you bother to read the words of this idiot who never signed a hit act and never ran a major record label. That would be like saying Bob Costas is qualified to call baseball or host the Olympics, even though he never even batted in the MLB, never mind hit 300, and he’s too wimpy to even throw the hammer.

People like Lefsetz need to be shut up. I mean who does he think he is? There’s nobody he hasn’t written negative stuff about. He’s just a crybaby loser who is desperate to be close to fame. He’s been doing it for twenty five years already. He’s put in 10,000 hours and he’s not as talented as, never mind famous as, Paula Abdul.

Good riddance.

I hear you. I’m done.