I was in Portland, Oregon, and I was checked in a hotel under the name Charles Edward Cheese. I came back to my room late at night, and there was a note; it was like a letter on my desk. It was addressed to Mr. Cheese. So, obviously, I'm gonna assume that whoever wrote this letter must be an intimate friend of mine; this is not some kind of name that a person would just guess. But then I open the letter, and it turns out I don't know this person at all. It's a fan letter. You know, I'm not even used to the idea that I have fans, but I'm grateful for it. And uh, and even though I'm grateful for fans, I... I don't read those letters. Be nice if I did, but realistically, it's like, What am I, Santa Claus, nigga? I don't have time for this. I got shit I wanna do. I'm trying to chill.