Dear F#m9,

F sharp minor ninth.

You suck.

I hate you, F#m9. And there are very few things I hate.

You are part of the exclusive club of things that I would like to rid from the surface of the Earth.

You, in fact, are the only member.

That's how much you suck.

You are a very ugly chord.
I think that I could actually produce a better sounding chord if I had my cat sit on the keys of my piano.
A toddler wildly slamming his hands on a keyboard sounds better than you.

Every time I hear you, my ears bleed and I'm tempted to rip out my own hair.

 In case you need a visual, here:

You, of course, are the music note floating to the right.

The thing around you is your cloud of evil.

I'm the girl to the left. My ears are projectile squirting blood. And I've ripped out tufts of my hair.

My nose has also disappeared, because it could smell how horrible you sound.

That actually happens whenever I hear you, F#m9. Or whenever someone dares to mention your ugly name.

Which is why I hate you. So much.

With hatred,

Felicity