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An Open Letter to Sanjaya Malakar

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Dear Sanjaya,
Thank you for teaching us how to laugh again. The nation needed to forget its troubles, and you gave us comedy each Tuesday and Wednesday night. Through an elaborate and well-played hoax, you brought a Kaufman-esque anti-humor to the American television viewing audience.

Looking back on it, the genius of your ruse can be seen as a mix of dada absurdist performance art and simply horrible singing. In the beginning, there were those of us who thought you were in it to win it. That you believed you could make it to the end. Week after week it became clear that you were, for lack of a better term, "fucking" with us.

Let's leave the singing alone. Obviously, your skills behind the mic are about as good as my deaf uncle singing "Riders on the Storm" at an all-you-can-drink karaoke night. But what clued me into your gag were the hairstyles. From the Foghorn Leghorn to the Jack Sparrow, your hair was a never-ending canvas of comedy gold. No "normal" person would go on national television with a four foot mohawk.

And yet, America remained fooled. They never understood that it was all a joke. They thought you cared. Finally, with the contestant numbers dwindling, you were forced to show your hand. Ending your run by replacing the lyrics in "Something to Talk About" with references to your hairstyles, was an excellent curtain call for the ultimate prank.

In closing, thank you again for showing America that, with enough pre-planning, you can go on the biggest television show and make an ass out of yourself each week and people will love you more and more. By the way, the Waffle House on I-75 is hiring and I put in a good word for you.

Regards,
Echowood

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