Dear Mr. Daughtry,
I'm writing to you in this eleventh hour out of desperation. I would like to call a matter of great importance to your attention. My name is Jason and I am a fan of your music. Furthermore, I am a huge Heavy Metal fan. Although technically, I wouldn't consider your works to be of that genre, I am borrowing, if not counting on your Hard Rock prowess for a particular reason.
Let me explain.
I have two daughters. The eldest being seven years of age. She loves music. Albeit shitty, bubble gum, pop music, it is music nonetheless. This brings me to my point and in turn your mission.
I need her to like Heavy Metal. It's not that I want her to like it. I literally need her to like it. It is such an intricate part of my DNA that it would be virtually impossible for me to live with her if she doesn't find a substantial appreciation for it. Her Mother (My Wife) pretty much hates it, which makes it difficult for me to partake. Because there are four of us in the house, it is basically a numbers game. I need to tip the scale in my favor so to speak.
This is where you come in. I am using you and your melodic rock stylings as a musical conduit between my eldest spawn and Heavy Metal. I understand this is a tremendous bit of responsibility to heap onto you so late in the game but my plan must work. It has to work.
I've respected you since American Idol. Your rendition of Lionel Richie's "Hello" was awe inspiring. Oh shit. Wait. Was that David Cook? Dammit. I have made a terrible mistake. This is not good. Fuck. Did you lose to Taylor Hicks that year? God Dammit. OK. I still need you to hook me up.
I'm coming to you in my darkest hour. I ask that you please try and muster your most worthy performance. In other words, please don't suck it tonight. If you fail, may Jonas Brothers CD's rain down upon you for all eternity.
Thank you for your immediate attention in this urgent matter.
P.S. Don't play that "Home" song. She hates it. It will fuck up everything.
Well done my friend. I think we got her...