An open letter to Eric Wahlforss of Soundcloud.

An open letter to Eric Wahlforss of Soundcloud.

Dear Eric,

Wow. How dumb am I? Seriously, talk about biting the hand that feeds you.


ERIC! Yes, your name is Eric Wahlforss.

One half of the duo that created Soundcloud.

You were so nice to me and I had such a blast at the party of your company that I wrote a blog about it, and then I did the ultra stupid move of telling everyone our private party secrets in that blog.

Those secrets clearly should have stayed in Vegas, because, you know, I should have known that you say nice things to everyone at parties and stare everyone in the eyes that intensely and just because we held hands by the water and you told me how you felt like we’ve known each other forever, even though we just met and it was nice, I should have known that it was “just another party.”

But then on top of that, I CALLED YOU ALEX IN THE BLOG POST!

Of course, Alex is Alex Ljung, your partner at Soundcloud.


Jesus, this is worse than waking up naked in your bed the next morning and calling you Alex, because at least then I could have cleared my throat when I saw the look on your face and pretended like I didn’t say Alex, but what I really said was the beginning of,

“Ah-lex go get some breakfast, I’m hungry.”

I know how competitive life must be between you and your business partner Alex, and me saying all those nice things about you, then calling you Alex must have felt like a swift kick in the nards, or worse, a swift kick in the nards by Alex himself.

Seriously though, this can’t be the first time this has happened. This has to happen all the time, right,

I mean, look at this photo of you two.

Tall guys are named Alex. Tall, skinny, dark-haired guys who are kind of awesome and from Sweden are named Alex Ljung.

And shorter guys with glasses who pop off at the mouth and goof around all the time and are shorter, and goofier, and are way shorter are clearly named Eric Wahlforss.


I know how competitive doing a start-up can be. I do. I have two partners at my company.

It’s me, myself and I, and sometimes I get so pissed at myself for being so arrogant, and taking all the credit for everything, I just need to get away and dream of killing myself.

I know. It gets bad.

I can imagine Alex, after he read my blog, busting into your office and screaming,

“HA! I was so drunk at the party that I charmed the shit out of that comedian and I don’t even remember! HE LOVES ME! It’s ALL ABOUT ME! I’M WAY BETTER THAN YOU ERIC, YOU SUCK! I MADE SOUNDCLOUD AWESOME!”

And it’s not true, Eric. Don’t you listen to him. You just keep being you, and you know what, someday people will recognize, and when I say some people, I mean me, and when I say recognize, I mean get your name right.

Please forgive me and give me another chance at the next Soundcloud party, hopefully for the same amount of money.

With love and magic in my eyes.

MF David Deery.

PART TWO. The Soundcloud party.

PART TWO. The Soundcloud party.

So. Where was I? Right. I was telling you how I became the hippy festival hatin, fuck experimental art and music, money hungry corporate scum that I am now.

And I am hungry. It’s nine am. Time to go to work.

It all started that Friday afternoon, when I was booked to play Soundcloud’s company party. I really almost didn’t take the gig, because the words “company party” are a huge red flag, almost as bad as “trust me, this is gonna be the best festival you’ve ever seen in your life.”

When I think company party, I imagine a room with a stage at the front and a bar at the back and a comedian on stage, sweating bullets and tapping on the mic saying, “is this thing on?” and “hey guys, can you hear me ok” as the roar of drunkin conversations drowns him, like a guy floating on the remains of a ship wreck as the company scum all stand back at the bar sucking down the free drinks and yelling to each other about how cool they are and how they wish that annoying little piss ant would shut up for five minutes.

So when my friend called me about the booking, I was still skeptical.

Here was our conversation.

“They want a comedian.” She said.

“I bet they do. No thanks.”

“Seriously. They’re cool.”

“No, their not. They’re dicks. They’ll talk over me and make me feel useless while they get drunker and meaner and drunker some more.”

“It’s on a boat.”

“Even worse, they ignore me until I’m done, then one guy will puke on me in the middle of telling me how horrible it was.”

“They’re gonna pay you XX,XXX euros.”

“WAIT, did you say XX,XXX euros? ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

“No, I’m just trying to make you look Super cool on this blog post, but they will pay you decently.”

“OK. But I still think it’s gonna suck.”

And now I’m gonna do what I gotta do. It’s something I hate doing and it’s something I don’t do very often.

I must admit, I was wrong.

I was wrong.

It wasn’t only fun, it was amazing. On the top of a boat, with the seats all full and yes, some people in the back talking, ok, and they were drinking too, but they didn’t obnoxiously ruin me, and more importantly, they were behind a group of people all paying attention and wanting to laugh at my stupid humor.

They were more than a decent crowd, they were a good crowd, even the two little kids in the front row. Even they were laughing.

Dumbest joke of the day?

“Hey look guys, come on, you think this is fun for me? Come on, we’re all in the same boat here.”

Ah, good times.

And it was good times, so I have to now OFFICIALLY let you know that SOUNDCLOUD is very high on my list of companies that doesn’t suck Satan’s cock.

And as the boat docked at that mansion in the middle of nowhere, and someone asked me,

“Hey, you stickin around?”

I thought,

“Why not, you nerds are pretty fuckin cool.”

And they are cool. These people are some of the friendliest, most outgoing, and approachable people I’ve ever hung out with in a large group, and they are also some of the most intelligent people I’ve probably ever met in my life.

I mean really. The conversations were amazing.

Somehow, this guy and myself were chatting very casually about the revolutionary aspects of the Internet and you know, shit like that.

I kind of gave him my philosophy about how paper money, is the glue that holds the system together, and if we could find a way to sneak behind banks backs, and get services to each other for something better than paper money, it be a big step to getting power back.

To which he then said, “Have you heard of Square, and blah blah blah blah?”

And in one breath mentioned like seven companies doing different versions of what I was talking about.

I almost cried. Not saying that this saddened me. It gave me hope. It really did. That Soundcloud party gave me hope.

With more people like this in the world I really think we’d be on the right track.

And then I met one of the inventers of the company.


He introduced himself, and thanked me, and asked me if I had enough to eat and drink and said I was very funny, and he was impressed, and then I said something that struck me as so real I had an epiphany, when I said,

“You know, it’s like my worst fear that Red Bull or Coca Cola will call me and want to work with me, because I hate their product, and I think they’re ruining the world, but I also need the money, and I couldn’t ever say no, and that would haunt me, but I’m not even mad at doing anything for Soundcloud because your product is actually a good thing. It’s not fuckin the world up at all, I mean sure, the record labels might be mad, but who cares about those shit heads? That’s what they fuckin get for trying to fuck us all making us buy everything again on expensive ass CD. Fuck the record industry.”

And I realized I was in love with Soundcloud.

And then, I looked him in the eyes and and he looked at me, and smiled, and we started making out, and I was crying, because he was by far the best man I would ever meet, but then he apologized and told me he was really drunk and had a girlfriend and then I said something like,

“Don’t worry, it’s just a blog post, everyone knows it’s just a joke.”

And he laughed and I laughed and wow.


I’m a corporate scumbag. Part one.

I’m a corporate scumbag. Part one.

That’s it. It’s over.

I’m officially all about making money and being the most powerful comedian ever.

That’s it, fuck any dreams of consciousness and art and money is just paper, and art and words can make the world a better place and and art and music is life, and math, and science and so on and so forth.

Fuck that.

I’m like Biggie Smalls now, all about the Benjamins.

Cream, get the money, dolla dolla bill y’all.

That’s officially the revolution to me now, because I realize the only hope I have of happiness is to MAYBE just someday buy a house on a lake, a gun, and a sign that says “All fake ass hippies will be shot on site.”

The hope for anything communal or in society is lost, probably for ever in a bowl of MDMA punch, that was sucked into the guts of anyone willing to take it, and washed down with a Big Mac at the first rest stop after that amazing (smell that sarcasm) film project festival thing I got sucked into on Saturday afternoon.

Thank you Mind Pirates for being the bad trip that makes me realize that experimental art and film is a bunch of self indulgent wankery, and thank you to my own mind for being intrigued by anything and everything enough to go along on the trip! (smells like even worse sarcasm or doo doo, can’t tell.)

I made some great new friends, but after this weekend I finally realized that I don’t want to ever again be associated with, or sucked into being a part of anything that has to do with anything pseudo hippy, or pseudo experimental, art, film, music, festival bullshit ever again.


I need to slow down here and explain what the fuck happened to me this weekend, but the smell of camp fire bacon is still lingering on my mustache and it’s hard to even think I’m still so scarred mentally by almost being stabbed and also getting raped in the mind by a flying pile of audible shit called music which mixed with so much ego and then stirred up with even more film maker ego it became a toxic combination, which when penetrating my eyes and ears made me want to commit genocide to anyone who wears crocks, has dreadlocks, climbs trees then turns around three hours later and eats a Big Mac and or threatens to sacrifice me with a wooden spear and the eyes of demon being who’s possibly eaten too many drugs or drank too many whiskeys.

There’s a line for sure when things just aren’t for me anymore, and I’ve crossed it when everyone around me is super mangled on drugs and the music sucks and there’s no way home and someone wants to stab me with a wooden spear and if there’s someone filming it, they have the right to use that without me saying anything.

Not even ouch.

But it’s Monday, and I’m home, and no ones dead including me, so hey, since I got you this far, let me tell you the whole story. The whole gloriously, depressing story of how I became a corporate scumbag.

And as of now my blog is free, so enjoy it while you can.

It all started Friday afternoon, on a boat, at the Soundcloud party.