Hey harmonica player guy that comes to every jam session on the Earth, I hate your guts! Why don't you just bring a chalkboard to the jam, and scratch your fingernails across it when it is your turn to sit in? I would like that better, and it would save me from having to swab blood out of my ears at the end of the night.

Random harmonica guy, the only reason I don't want you to swallow that thing is, I would have to hear it with every untalented breath you take. Here's the deal: No...I don't want to play Stormy Monday blues. Also, I don't want you to try and play a harp solo on Little Wing, or bring up your harp player friend so you can play at the same time. Oh yeah, I am not going to call you Big John, or Little Willy, or Slim, or Harpo. I may call you loser, however, and not give you a free drink ticket for playing.

Unspecified harp dude, I don't want to hate you, but you bring it upon yourself. You are not playing an instrument, but a third world torture device. I don't come to your job and hit you in the balls with a ball ping hammer, do I? Why are you doing the sonic equivilant of that to me? Do you hate me? Did I do something to you in another life? Should I line up my kids so you can punch them in the face? Would that make you happy?

In closing, I hope they start making harmonicas with asbestos and razor blades. That'll learn ya how the cow ate the cabbage (wtf does that saying even mean and why did I use it?). You know what they call a harmonica player without a girlfriend? Homeless
I barely read any of that, but from what I gathered, I'm guessing this could've gone in your blog. Or in that little notepad you keep under your pillow that you think no one knows about when in reality everyone's laughing behind your back about it.

Blog would have been better.
Not a bad note.. i suppose..
This is a clever, witty signature. Rofl at my glory.