And Banksy's Real Name Is:

Dear Daily Mail,

You have got some serious party poopers on your staff. Did you stop to think that, by reporting graffiti artist Banksy's real name might be Robin Gunningham, you'd be spoiling everyone's fun? Did it occur to you that, by mentioning Robin Gunningham is a former student of a posh private school, you'd be sticking daggers of b-o-r-i-n-g into Banksy's subversive persona? Of course it did, you big, fat, downer of a newspaper.

All *you* could see was how sensational it is to be the town crier, the first purveyor of gossip, the cool kid with his daddy's copy of Playboy at recess. Cheap, cheap thrills and shame on you, Daily Mail. You've also apparently just given the separated parents of Robin Gunningham many reasons to hold some awkward talks. Peter Gunningham has denied that the 'Banksy' in your photograph is his son, while Pamela Dawkin-Jones denies even HAVING a son. Now, how uncomfortably is that little dichotomy going to lay between the former-Gunninghamses, I ask you?

Personally, and while I hope you end up with egg on your face, you don't faze me, Daily Mail. I am sticking my fingers in my ears, humming "La-la-la-la-la" and pretending that every news outlet on earth isn't picking up your Banksy revelation. I don't care what Banksy's real name is, you killjoy. I need some harmless intrigue in my life. There is zero mystique to utility bills, cooking, laundry or dust bunnies in the corners, but Banksy? Banksy is fun for me. Banksy is the Great Unknowable who can also draw and has a rather intelligent sense of humor--something which you obviously do not possess, Daily Mail.

Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy were long ago spoiled for me, and you've just tried to ruin Banksy. You lack poetry in your soul, Daily Mail; there is no romance in you. What comes next? A hard-hitting exposé on Festivus not being a 'real' holiday? (Ah! See if you can manage to restrain yourself there. You are already playing a key role in my upcoming annual Airing of Grievances.) Go solve a mystery we all want solved, such as why one occasionally sees a single shoe sitting on the shoulder of the road. Leave Banksy well enough alone.

Sincerely yours,

Territorial About My Rich Imaginary Life