Thorny Misgivings: An Open Letter to Bret Michaels

In your prime as front man for the legendary L.A. hairspray band, Poison, I thought of you, Mr. Brett Michaels, as the venerable sage and poet laureate of the 80s Glam Rock world. I marveled at your deftness and flair for capturing the human condition with your poignant, evocative songs, none more so than when you penned the power ballad masterpiece in which you claimed, “every rose has its thorn.”


Now I'm no expert on roses and have less than a layman's concept for the intricacy and nuance of horticulture. Further, the few times that I have handled roses, in my memory, involved navigating prickly little thorns. So, it is no wonder that upon first hearing your rock opus circa 1989, I was moved to agree with your thesis—yes, indeed, every rose does have its thorn. Unfortunately, once I examined more deeply your baseless, dishonest analogy regarding cowboys and emphatic, repetitive, and ultimately rhetorically flawed use of "every," your argument, Mr. Michaels, sir, fell shamefully apart, thus calling into question the very premise of this song.

And I quote: "just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song, every rose has its thorn." Well, let me assure you, dear reader, not every cowboy sings a sad, sad song. In fact, cowboys have a rich, layered tradition of musicianship that explores a wide array of emotions well beyond the morose, including songs about being home on the range or rockabying sweet baby James or visiting towns in west Texas (El Paso, to be exact) where you can fall in love with Mexican girls.

Thus, the fact that every cowboy does not necessarily sing a sad, sad song, I submit, undermines your assertion that every rose has a thorn. We cannot say with any degree of certainty whether every rose does or does not have its thorn, and so I feel it necessary to call into question the integrity of your thesis and am left to wonder where else you, sir, have led us astray: Maybe the unskinny bop doesn't just blow you away. Do you really want us to give you something to believe in? I now sincerely doubt that you don't need nothing but a good time or that you won't forget me, baby. We're left to take you at your word, and I want to believe you, Mr. Michaels, sir, but right now your word isn't worth the paper it is written on.