Welcome to our little advice column! You really can ask us (almost) anything, but please note: Dear BaE is written by two people who wish to remain anonymous, for entertainment purposes only. Neither Bono nor Edge are involved in any way except as they exist in our tiny little brains. No Bonos or Edges were harmed during the creation of this column. Enjoy!

Kelly Eddington 10/8/24 Kelly Eddington 10/8/24

Dear BaE Volume 24: Pet

Welcome to our little advice column! You really can ask us (almost) anything, but please note: Dear BaE is written by two people who wish to remain anonymous, for entertainment purposes only. Neither Bono nor Edge are involved in any way except as they exist in our tiny little brains. No Bonos or Edges were harmed during the creation of this column. Enjoy!

Dear BaE,

No disrespect but I just want to point out that on December 1, it will have been seven (SEVEN) years since you guys released Songs of Experience, your last full album of new songs. What gives? This is a long gap, even for you.

Tim W., Minnesota

Fake Edge: Hi Tim. Yes, it is rather a long gap but it’s not like we haven’t kept busy. In 2019, we toured Australia, New Zealand, and several countries in Asia–

Fake Bono: Yes! We even played in India for the first time! We gave you “Ahimsa!”

Fake Edge: Yes, we certainly gave you that. And then there was this small pandemic thingy.

Fake Bono: Just a wee one. A mere blip, really.

Fake Edge: And in the middle of that blip, the two of us went off to Ukraine, an actual war zone, and played in a bomb shelter. I mean, who else does that?

Fake Bono: Subsequently, you were all blessed with me book what I wrote meself, with me pen. Not to mention me innovative book tour-slash-one-man show. I believe PJ here called it “the bravest thing” she ever saw, and I never disagree with PJ.

Fake Edge: Nor should you. And then! We gave you Songs of Surrender, four album-sides of delicately re-imagined songs spanning our entire career, which Bono and I basically whispered to each other from our separate bedrooms during lockdown.

Fake Bono: We missed each other terribly.

Fake Edge: We really did. And then, just about a year ago, we opened…Sphere.

Fake Bono: OMG, Sphere.

Fake Edge: I love Sphere.

Fake Bono: And Sphere loves Edge, too.

Fake Edge: Do you really think so?

Fake Bono: I know so. Hey, what are you doodling over there?

Fake Edge: Well, it’s me. Walking my pet Sphere.

Fake Bono: Pull yourself together, The Edge. Anyway, with all of this being the case, we do actually have a new album almost ready to go. And rest assured it’s a full-on, fuckedy-uppedy, balls-to-the-wall sensory assault of LITERALLY on-fire guitars, head-pounding bass, and totally fecking off-tha-hook drums from the rejuvenated and revitalized Larry Mullen, Jr. I hope you delicate flowers are able to survive the level of rock’n’roll aggression we’re about to unleash because several prominent producers could not handle it at all.

Fake Edge: That’s right, Bono. But while you wait to have your ears blasted off, probably sometime next year, who knows, we have a fabulous Christmas present for our fans in the form of a free download of never-before-released Remixes of “Vertigo!” I shouldn’t do this, but here’s the track list:

Vertigo - The Imperfecto Mix
Verti Go Bragh - The St. Patrick Hotel Mix
Vertigogo - The Nancy Sinatra’s Boots Mix
Vortigern - The 5th Century British Warlord Mix
Vertigo (Hello Hello) - The Extended Mix ft. Adele & Lionel Richie
Vertigo Eternal - it’s just that opening riff but it goes on for 25 minutes

Fake Bono: What about the mix where I just go “Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah, yeah yeah yeah yeah, yeah, yeaaahh” for 25 minutes?

Fake Edge: We’re not releasing that one.

Fake Bono: Oh, come on.

Fake Edge: No.

Dear BAE,

What is the worst thing you love and the best thing you hate? For example, I love pineapple on pizza and I hate coffee. How about you two?

Zoe2u, via Twitter

Fake Edge: Now that—THAT is a question.

Fake Bono: Color me stupefied. I don’t even know how to approach this one.

Fake Edge: I don’t think we can take this question dead-seriously. I mean, I love my children. Which one is the worst? None of them!

Fake Bono: And I hate war atrocities. Which one is the best? None of them!

Fake Edge: So it’s got to be something more whimsical.

Fake Bono: It could be about us. Edge, what’s the worst thing I do that you love?

Fake Edge: I need to think about this. Do you mind if I take a quick jog around the exquisitely landscaped grounds of Achtoon Tower?

Fake Bono: Be my guest.

Fake Edge: In the meantime, maybe you could entertain our readers in some way.

Fake Bono: Consider it done. Come back with a snack!

Fake Edge: [exits]

Fake Bono: Hello, dear readers. I trust all of you are having a delightful spring?

PJ: [yelling from the break room] IT’S OCTOBER! LESS THAN ONE MONTH BEFORE…FUCK! HOW OUT OF TOUCH ARE YOU?? WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WROTE YOUR COLUMN?

Fake Bono: Oh my. I suppose it has been a while. What can I say? Time flies when you’re crashing random cabaret acts in Monte Carlo and serenading Hollywood royalty. My apologies. Come with me, dear reader. Let’s look out the window and see if we can spot Edge down there…oh yes. Look at him go. Did you notice that during our Sphere residency, his hair was just a wee bit longer than usual? Here, let’s watch this video of our hero in his favored habitat.

Fake Bono: That fluffiness, my friends, is the result of an ongoing, two-pronged campaign instigated by the lovely Morleigh and myself. Our goal? The return of his early 90s TINY BRAIDED MAN-BUN. Remember that? We just wanted to see if we could get him to do it. I feel like it should be longer by now, though, if it is in fact one year later.

Fake Edge: Hair grows at the rate of six inches per year.

Fake Bono: Where is my snack?

Fake Edge: Please enjoy this Sakura Kinako Kit Kat. It features a blend of cherry blossoms and roasted soybean powder.

Fake Bono: Huh. Want some?

Fake Edge: No thank you.

Fake Bono: Well, I don’t know about you, but I can answer part of Zoe’s question. The best thing Edge does: he is hardcore about nutrition, and good for him, but I hate it because it’s impossible to truly enjoy my little treats under his judgemental gaze.

Fake Edge: Fair enough. The best thing Bono does: he creates visual art. But come on now. Your recent drawings of me hurt my feelings.

Fake Bono: Ouch.

Fake Edge: That’s what I said.

Fake Bono: I apologize for that. Your singular beauty is impossible to capture.

Kelly: [yelling from the break room] IT IS NOT!

Fake Bono: I suppose Penguin Random House flooded me with yes-people during the whirlwind illustration phase of Surrender: 40 Songs, One Story, which I’m told will soon be released in paperback! U2 completists will want to purchase at least several copies for their collections.

Fake Edge: Congratulations, B.

Fake Bono: And now! On to the fun half of the question. What’s the worst thing Edge does that I love? Why, he obsesses over our songs to the point of exhaustion and madness. But I love this because he makes the rest of us look good as we bask in his reflected genius. How about that, Edge?

Fake Edge: I’m flattered as always by your praise.

Fake Bono: And what is the worst thing I do?

Fake Edge: You still smoke on occasion.

Fake Bono: But you love it because…?

Fake Edge: The cigarette smoke reminds me of our early days, back when we were touring the world and seeing amazing things for the first time. The smoke takes me back to small clubs that eventually became stadiums and to rickety old vans that eventually became private jets. Your cigarettes transport me to those beautiful years when we were discovering our true selves. Your cigarettes are little time machines. And sometimes you share them with me.

Fake Bono: …Ah, Edge.

Fake Edge: Yeah.

Fake Bono: And that’s another column in the plastic pumpkin, U2 fans — you sickly-sweet mound of candy corn! To paraphrase yer man, Alden Solovy, “Creator Spirit, put an end to anger and hatred, bigotry and fear, and lead us to a time when no one suffers at the hand of another.”

We love you!

Do you have a burning question for Fake Bono and Fake Edge? Follow them on The Site That Will Always BeTwitter (@DearBAEatu2) and ask! They are capable of answering questions about U2, questions that are related to U2, and questions that have nothing to do with U2 at all.

Note: Fake Bono and Fake Edge are not real. They are two people pretending to be them. They cannot put you in touch with U2. They cannot help you with your music career, and they have no plans to come to Brazil anytime soon.

* Drawing of Edge walking his pet Sphere by PJ.

Kelly Eddington 12/16/23 Kelly Eddington 12/16/23

Dear BaE Volume 23: Flickenburgh

Dear BaE,

We, the undersigned, are longtime U2 fans. VERY longtime. The Real Yous’ music is everything to us. We feel like we’ve been through so much together, because even though you don’t know us, it kinda feels like we all know each other. We’re sure you understand, because people tell you this all the time. So we think it’s probably okay if we get a little blunt here.

Those promotional videos you share every now and then, with the perky babes jumping up and down (fig. 1) and not even sweating? And that one young guy who throws his head back like he’s busting a nut? Those videos are stupid. These people are obvious plants. 90 percent of your audience is large bald men with mortgages and bad knees who have to get up at 5 the next morning to fly back to Flickenburgh, Pennsylvania (fig. 2). It’s kind of hurtful if you don’t think your real fans are hot enough for your social media. God knows we spend enough time dodging that stupid camera boom in GA. You could at least have some respect for our efforts.

Jim S.,

Kathy S.,

Tom D.,

Flickenburgh, PA

Fake Edge: Oh. Wow.

Fake Bono: Why do I feel like I’ve just been slapped?

Fake Edge: Because you have.

Fake Bono: Did I deserve it? We already did away with the Babe Balloon Swing. What do these people want, blood?

Fake Edge: Maybe you should explain the deep thought processes that go into our marketing strategy.

Fake Bono: Really? Do we really want to tell Jim, Kathy, and Tom that we send Fergus-the-Intern into the crowd with a (RED) iPhone 14 Plus and a miner’s helmet, searching for slender women under the age of 27 that we can edit into–

Fake Edge: No, no. The real marketing strategy.

Fake Bono: Okay, okay. Dear Jim, Kathy, and Tom, thank you from the bottom of our hearts for loving U2. As Real Me has said, “If I’m close to the music, and you’re close to the music, we are close to each other.” This means everyone, including you.

However, it’s a sad truth that Music (which we consider a sacrament) and “The Music Industry” are two different things. While we do have to sign off on the stuff that makes it to our Facebook, Instagram and Xmal-Von-Twitter accounts, we are subject to some unpleasant forces. The fact is that in a world where loyalties are largely divided between Taylor Swift and people who make song fragments in their bedrooms for TikTok, we are just four old farts who play instruments and make albums.

Fake Edge: Right. And to keep doing what we love, we really need people to come to the shows. So while we are aware that most of our audience has to fly back to Flickenburgh–

Fake Bono: We gotta make that a thing: the Folks Who Fly Back to Flickenburgh.

Fake Edge: Fair. Anyway, while we are aware that most of you are mature people who have been with us for 20, 30 or even 40 years, we have to try to be relevant.

Fake Bono: That word. Relevant to what, exactly? We’re obviously relevant to Jim, Kathy, Tom, and everyone else who buys our records and our wildly overpriced concert tickets and merch!

Fake Edge: Relevant to the f-ing TikTok zeitgeist, I guess. Hence the perky, bouncing midriffs.

Fake Bono: And the nut-buster dude.

Fake Edge: Yeah, Orgasm Boy.

Fake Bono: We love Orgasm Boy. We love him so much. In fact, we’re gonna call our unreasonable guitar album Orgasm Boy.

Fake Edge: Opening track: “Flying Back to Flickenburgh.”

Fake Bono: And the next album after that will be Orgasm October.

Fake Edge: Orgasm War.

Fake Bono: God, we are just so relevant.

Fake Edge: Sure. Anyway, Jim, Kathy, and Tom, please know that we absolutely want and need you to keep listening. And if you still want to come to our shows, we absolutely want to see you in the front row.

Fake Bono: But if you find yourself in front of this guy, you might want to move over a few spots. We can’t be sure what’s going on there.

Fake Edge: It’s probably the vest.

Dear Fake Bono,

I saw the video of Real You singing to Morleigh. Very sweet, but you tripped over the bespoke lyrics because you were improvising. Don’t you know the 5 Ps (Proper preparation prevents poor performance)? Should you have written the lyrics beforehand?

U2 Fan Polls

@U2Polls

Fake Bono: [spit take]

Fake Edge: Oh boy.

Fake Bono: HOW DARE

Fake Edge: Simmer down. They’re just trying to get a rise out of you.

Fake Bono: AND HOW DARE YOU TAKE THEIR SIDE EDGE

Fake Edge: I’m not—

Fake Bono: THEN DEFEND ME

Fake Edge: Thanks a lot for your cheap shot question. First, while I remember Bono’s touching serenade of Morleigh quite fondly, I can’t recall any glaring mistakes. The main takeaway from that night was this: my wife is a blithe and entrancing creature who deserves credit for her many contributions to our groundbreaking Sphere residency—

Fake Bono: THEN DEFEND ME

Fake Edge: And Bono is also a blithe and entrancing creature. His status as a legendary performer is undisputed. Bono is granted a lifelong pass for every lyrical misstep because he subscribes to the IFBSFB Philosophy. Want to tell them what that stands for, B?

Fake Bono: I’M FUCKING BONO, SIR FUCKING BONO

Fake Edge: There it is, folks

Dear BaE,

This morning I endured a couple of hours of dental work, and I had plenty of time to think about your recent remarks on the subject. (You know the price of dentistry is truly out of control when Real Bono calls it expensive.)

Your smiles have evolved over the years, and I’d like to compliment Bono’s current dentist for creating a more natural and ever-so-slightly imperfect set of veneers. The tiny gap between the incisors is, as the kids say, “chef’s kiss.”

Could the two of you please share your thoughts on cosmetic dentistry? Is it worth the time and expense?

Love,

Kiki

Fake Edge: Thank you for your question, Kiki.

Fake Bono: Finally, a kind one. And in case anyone was wondering, the two of us have everything Real Edge and Real Myself have. We receive duplicates of whatever they buy. It’s wonderful.

Fake Edge: Yes. And anytime they get something “done,” it appears on us as if by magic. That’s how this works.

Fake Bono: So imagine my delight when I awoke to a brand new gleaming smile about thirty years ago.

Fake Edge: And within a few weeks, I had one, too.

Fake Bono: Glorious. So of course we were curious: what did Real Bono and Real Edge have to go through to give the two of us such beautiful teeth?

Fake Edge: Porcelain veneers, which are what these appear to be, require two to three dental appointments over the course of six weeks. The procedure is irreversible and involves the removal of some natural tooth enamel before the veneers are bonded.

Fake Bono: And talk about expensive: this costs as much as $2500 per tooth, and the veneers are not even permanent.

Fake Edge: No! They last around ten years, and then you’ll have to get new ones.

Fake Bono: Glad it’s them and not us.

Fake Edge: Right? Cosmetic dentistry is amazing. But I’ve got to say, sometimes I miss your original teeth. They had so much personality.

Fake Bono: You had a cute little snaggletooth, too.

Fake Edge: I don’t know if I’d characterize that as a snaggletooth, Bono. But thank you.

Fake Bono: The thought that Real Us felt the need to correct their teeth in such a way makes me want to give them a hug. You were perfect just the way you were, Real Us!

Fake Edge: I don’t need to tell you that when men are in the public eye, the same unattainable beauty standards women face start to apply to them as well.

Fake Bono: It cannot be denied.

Fake Edge: That’s the price of being rock stars, I suppose.

Fake Bono: But you still like my new teeth, yes?

Fake Edge: Of course. And do you like mine?

Fake Bono: You’re a goddamn movie star, Edge.

And that’s another column under the Christmas tree, U2 fans – you little box of fuzzy slippers! As yer woman Margaret Atwood said, “This is the solstice, the still point of the sun, its cusp and midnight, the year's threshold and unlocking, where the past lets go of and becomes the future; the place of caught breath.” May the winter sun shine gently on you all! We love you!

Kelly Eddington 9/5/23 Kelly Eddington 9/5/23

Dear BaE Volume 22: The Sphere

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

What can we expect when we see you at the Sphere? And should we refer to it as “The Sphere” or just “Sphere”?

Love,

Alice

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Hi, Alice. I want to answer your second question. In my experience, “The” can be dropped for informal, among-friends usage. However, when one wants to be more ceremonial or make some kind of saucy point, a “The” should be employed.

Fake Bono: Yes. In that case, I encourage one to really lean into it and pronounce it as “Thee.”

Fake Edge: … Bono?

Fake Bono: What?

Fake Edge: I’m in love with the Sphere.

Fake Bono: I KNOW YOU ARE

Fake Edge: Dropping its “the” seems wrong. “I’m in love with Sphere”: I can’t quite get behind that. But “I’m in love with the Sphere” sounds right to me. And I don’t feel like we need to capitalize its “the.”

Fake Bono: In summation, we are calling it “the Sphere.”

Fake Edge: Agreed. And I realize some fans are trying to avoid spoilers regarding our shows this fall, so if you are one of those people, please stop reading right now.

Fake Bono: We have been keeping our mouths shut regarding the Sphere’s truly explosive innovations for far too long, and we are prepared to share them now as a reward to you, our beloved readers.

Fake Edge: This is classified information, okay?

Fake Bono: We can trust them. So apart from the absolutely unprecedented quality of the sound and visuals, what can we tell people to expect at the Sphere, The Edge?

Fake Edge: I am so excited to answer this question.

Fake Bono: I can tell! Your face moved!

Fake Edge: To begin with, the Sphere knows each and every ticket-holder by name. As you enter, you will hear a personalized greeting. For example, “Hi Steve!” “Hi Aiysha!” “Hi Kabir!” “Hi Megan!” And you can relax knowing that the Sphere will detect and eradicate all Covid-19 particles and droplets that may enter its atmosphere.

Fake Bono: That’s amazing.

Fake Edge: I know! Oh, read the part about the smells.

Fake Bono: Right. “For the month of September, the Sphere will smell like cinnamon rolls. In October, it will switch to cider doughnuts and pumpkin spice. These scents will linger through mid-November, at which time there will be an abrupt switch to Christmas tree, peppermint and hot cocoa.”

Fake Edge: When you touch any part of the Sphere, it sighs happily.

Fake Bono: Oh, all the venues do that.

Fake Edge: What? No they don’t!

Fake Bono: Really? For me they do.

Fake Edge: …Just keep reading.

Fake Bono: “Hidden vents spaced regularly throughout the Sphere will release perfectly legal hits of dopamine and oxytocin every ten minutes. These are hormones that your body produces naturally: the hormones of pleasure and love, respectively. No one is sad or lonely inside the Sphere.” Is this really “perfectly legal?”

Fake Edge: It gets better: “Once you are seated in the Sphere, make sure to look for the special button on your armrest labeled ‘Hug.’ Press the button and the seat will hug you. You can adjust the hug for pressure and duration.”

Fake Bono: Again, the question of legality comes to mind.

Fake Edge: Don’t worry, these hugs aren’t inappropriate in any way. Just comforting.

Fake Bono: Reassuring, yet disappointing. And what about our friends in the G.A.? No seat hugs for them?

Fake Edge: Well, that’s where it gets interesting. The majority of our fans are not getting any younger. Asking them to stand in one spot for over four consecutive hours (plus god knows how long they plan to wait outside the Sphere) seems unsympathetic. But listen to this: “The G.A. floor will be be made of space-age orthotic materials that will provide comfort, support, and cushioning to the feet. The floor will absorb shock and alleviate discomfort caused by prolonged standing.” And between you and me, Bono? We’re experimenting with…gravity modification. I’ll say no more.

Fake Bono: Hmm. Anyway, “The Sphere knows that the last few years have been kind of rough. The Sphere just wants you to be okay.” This is ridiculous, Edge. Does it also have a Severance elevator?

Fake Edge: Oh stop. You’re gonna love this bit: the Sphere knows instinctively which band member is your favorite. So for example, if Adam is your crush, the Sphere will enhance the bassline of each song, just for you. And if you are so inclined, Adam will visit you in the form of a hologram and let you touch his hair.

Fake Bono: I feel like Adam’s fans are gonna want to touch more than just his hair.

Fake Edge: Again, legality.

Fake Bono: Legality. So what part can they touch if I’m their favorite, Edge?

Fake Edge:

Fake Bono: The answer is, my soul. They can touch my soul.

Fake Edge: That’s what I was gonna say.

Fake Bono: And they’ll be able to give your hologram a chaste peck on the cheekbone of their choice. Both are equally magnificent.

Fake Edge: Why, thank you. Given all of these feel-good innovations, our fans may worry that we are losing our edge, for lack of a better term. They should be advised that during the inevitable MacPhisto portion of the show, things will get dark.

Fake Bono: “When MacPhisto appears, a disturbing scent that is a combination of brimstone, discontinued lipstick, and an overripe, leather-based musk”—eww, Edge—“will waft around the Sphere. The ambient temperature will temporarily increase to 95F degrees. Additionally, MacPhisto’s voice will whisper into each audience member’s ear a personalized message that begins with ‘I saw what you did’ and concludes with whatever that audience member did.” I don’t remember authorizing any of this!

Fake Edge: Well, what was I supposed to do when you were on your little one-man book tour? I had plenty of time to think.

Fake Bono: An idle Edge is truly the devil’s workshop.

Fake Edge: As you may know, large bags and purses are not allowed inside the Sphere. In fact, the size restriction for bags is 6x6x2 inches.

Fake Bono: That seems oddly specific.

Fake Edge: Here’s why. “Prior to Sphere entry, all bags will be inspected.” Now, our fans are used to this. But! “Upon inspection, a pygmy marmoset will be secretly inserted into each bag.”

Fake Bono: So. A little monkey.

Fake Edge: A little monkey! Pygmy marmosets find comfort in small spaces, and each one will be trained to disable a phone. All concert audio will be at a frequency outside of the marmosets’ hearing range, and they will snuggle in our ticket-holders’ bags for the duration of the show. After that, the marmosets will restore the phones, and their presence will cheer up our audience members during the inevitable post-show bereavement period.

Fake Bono: You’re telling me that we’re giving away thousands upon thousands of little monkeys.

Fake Edge: Yes. They’ll be yours to keep, fans! And they will come in five varieties. Please refer to this diagram, B.

Fake Bono: …Did Gavin approve this?

Fake Edge: Whole-heartedly. He’s currently supervising the training of the pygmy marmosets.

Fake Bono: While this idea is literally apeshit crazy…I find myself wanting to collect them all, Edge.

Fake Edge: Can you even imagine how cute they’ll be?

Fake Bono: Their tiny faces…!

Fake Edge: Obviously this is cutting into our budget in a major way, so sacrifices had to be made. Visually, we’re just gonna recycle 2018’s crudely-drawn figures that vaguely resemble us.

Kelly Eddington: [wailing in a distant room]

Fake Bono: Oh, those? That guy had no understanding of the shape of your head.

Fake Edge: It’s fine. Because monkeys.

Fake Bono: And that’s another column in the biodegradable leaf bag, U2 fans — you squirrel-stash of crunchy acorns! As yer man Andres Segovia said, “Lean your body forward slightly to support the guitar against your chest, for the poetry of the music should resound in your heart.” We love you!

Kelly Eddington 6/16/23 Kelly Eddington 6/16/23

Dear BaE Volume 21: Bedge

Dear Fake Bono & Fake Edge,

I was wondering about the stand-in for Real Larry—will there be some sort of initiation rite required of him?

Julie

Fake Bono: What? WHAT? A stand-in for Larry? Edge, what is Julie on about?

Fake Edge: Calm down, B. Don’t you remember? Our upcoming sojourn in the desert?

Fake Bono: Oh right, the Vegas residency.

Fake Edge: Yes, at the MSG Sphere! The only entertainment venue for which sound is the main priority! The dazzling orb of volume and amplitude! The gleaming curvilinear oasis of aural reverberation!

Fake Bono: Are you crying?

Fake Edge: No.

Fake Bono: Anyway, I believe Julie was asking us if we will require some sort of initiation rite for Bam-Bam.

Fake Edge: Folks, Bono is referring to Bram Van Den Berg, who will be our drummer in Vegas whilst Larry pursues his part-time gig of having his picture taken next to the owners of exclusive New York restaurants.

Fake Bono: Now now, Edge. Larry is coping with the effects of a number of drumming-related injuries, but that shouldn’t prevent him from hitting up every immersive dessert experience between Chelsea and Tribeca.

Fake Edge: Of course not. All the chocolate fountains for Larry. So, should we subject Bram to some kind of initiation ritual? Should we jump him into the gang somehow?

Fake Bono: Yes. What if we have him read Mean Tweets from Larry Stans? He could do this on stage during our inevitable intermission. I’ve found a couple and they are quite something:

Fake Bono: There are loads more, but these are the two examples I grabbed. What do you think, Edge?

Fake Edge: I think we’re going to need more security on this tour.

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

When can we expect a new album and what direction will it take?

Graham

And will Fake Larry be involved?

Steve

Fake Bono: How about…2030-ish, “bro-country,” and even though Fake Larry will not drum, he’s offered to send us the album’s lyrics at the rate of one line per day via collect calls from the Department of Corrections in Texarkana, Arkansas.

Fake Edge: Well, it looks like the cat’s out of the bag.

Fake Bono: I’m sick of the lies, Edge. Yes, fans, Fake Larry is facing five-to-ten years in the big house for public urination and road rage. You do not want details. So, best case scenario: new album in 2028. Worst case: 2033. While it’s cheering to imagine he might be granted an early release for good behavior—

Fake Edge: I’m not holding my breath.

Fake Bono: No.

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

I’ve never met either of real-you in person, but if I ever do, I’d want you to remember me. Any tips on how to make our encounter memorable compared to the masses of fans you’ve met?

U2 Fan Polls

Fake Bono: Hi again, Poll Fanders! I’m going to be brief, but this is very important, so print it out and keep it somewhere safe. First of all, please accept the fact that I’m probably not going to remember you unless you’re a fully vetted VIP Superfan who can make it to at least 25 shows per tour and who has been on stage or at least touching rail at no fewer than 20 of those shows.

Now, here’s my advice for the rest of you, and please note that it applies to the entire band: While it may be your nature to be polite and respectful, and to honor the bodily integrity of strangers by not grabbing, pawing, or slobbering on them—feck that. Being nice will get you NOWHERE. You want a handshake? Better stick your hand out really far, right in our faces. It helps to be big and imposing, and to have long arms, and to not be shy about batting smaller people out of your way like a cat knocking figurines off a shelf. Don’t be afraid to shout our names multiple times, as loudly as possible. An interesting accent is a plus. And do we want to sign your dusty old records and magazines? You bet we do! Dangle those things right over the faces of the shorter people in front of you, and we’ll be friends for life. Finally, we already know how important our music is to you so you can skip that part.

Fake Edge: Bono.

Fake Bono: PJ wrote this for me.
Fake Edge: I thought so.

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

What are your thoughts on all the Bedge smut that gets written on AO3 and elsewhere?

Chloe

Fake Edge: Let’s think about this. We are fake versions of Real Bono and Real Edge.

Fake Bono: Yes.

Fake Edge: If you and I are allowed to exist, surely other fictional versions of us exist, including versions who are in love with each other.

Fake Bono: Edge, if you’re going to start talking about the multiverse again, I’m done. Because the multiverse is bullshit—wait. Is someone screaming out there?

Fake Edge: I believe we’re hearing our Achtoon overlords. But those sound like happy screams, right?

Fake Bono: Happy is not quite the right word—

Bedge Bono: Hello.

Fake Bono: What? Who—you’re me? How did you…?

Bedge Bono: We magically appear to people who want to see us.

Bedge Edge: It’s that simple.

Fake Edge: (Readers, if I may paint a word picture, we’ve been joined by our younger selves circa 1992, and they’re in full ZooTV regalia. Except they look better than we ever did, and somehow they’re sparkling…?)

Fake Bono: You’re so idealized and shiny.

Bedge Bono: Thank you. You’re…very old?

Bedge Edge: We are the fan fiction version of Real Bono and Real Edge.

Bedge Bono: We’re whatever age our writers want us to be. ZooTV is our default setting.

Bedge Edge: And who are you?

Fake Edge: Fake Bono and I write an occasional column for an extremely niche U2 fansite.

Bedge Bono: That…seems fun?

Fake Bono: Well, what do you do?

Bedge Bono: Heh.

Bedge Edge: Our lives mirror those of Real Bono and Real Edge, but it’s mainly just the fun parts. We live a life of ease.

Bedge Bono: We exist in luxury hotels and mansions. Oh, and yachts!

Fake Edge: But you’re also in a band called U2, and you record albums and go on tours, right?

Fake Bono: Whilst saving the world?

Bedge Edge: That’s more or less implied. Our creators find those topics tedious to write about. As a result, our new music arrives quickly and easily—often within the space of a single paragraph—thanks to our collective brilliance. And we rarely have to perform it, but when we do it’s the most transcendent show of all time, every time.

Bedge Bono: We get to smoke, eat, and drink whatever we want without physical consequences.

Fake Bono: [mutters] Fuck. You.

Bedge Edge: Oh, you wish.

Fake Edge: There’s got to be a catch.

Bedge Edge: The catch is this. We have to be in love with each other, and we have to experience better sex than any couple has ever had since the beginning of time.

Bedge Bono: Have to? Get to.

Bedge Edge: Occasionally our writers attempt to throw in some drama involving our wives, for example.

Bedge Bono: But our wives usually don’t care. Sometimes they even encourage this. Our writers’ attempts at angst result in us handsomely brooding over each other during the odd sleepless night. But that doesn’t matter.

Bedge Edge: We always get a happy ending.

Bedge Bono: I’ll say.

Bedge Edge: We never have morning breath, we’re never sick, and we’re fastidiously groomed but positively dripping with pheromones and oxytocin.

Fake Edge: That explains the sparkle.

Bedge Edge: And just look at him. Falling in love with him is easy.

Fake Bono: His eyes are somehow bluer than mine.

Bedge Bono: They are in fact bluer than any other substance in the known universe.

Bedge Edge: I’ve tried to pin them down, but they’re just…indescribably blue.

Bedge Bono: You otherworldly genius.

Fake Bono: [coughs]

Bedge Edge: Needless to say, we’re always ready for anything.

Bedge Bono: Everything.

Bedge Edge: Baby.

Bedge Bono: Beautiful Edge.

Fake Edge: [clears throat]

Bedge Bono: We really should be going. It was lovely meeting you. Fake Edge, you’re so distinguished. Professorial, even. [smolders]

Bedge Edge: Fake Bono, I’ll see you in your dreams, sweetheart.

Fake Bono: …What? They’re gone.

Fake Edge: Wow.

Fake Bono: I’ve got to admit it: those two make us seem cooler than we actually are, Real Bono and Real Edge included.

Fake Edge: You’re right.

Fake Bono: So to answer Chloe’s question, what are your thoughts?

Fake Edge: I think we should be pleased to be 61 and 63 years old and somehow inspire people to present us in such a way. Chloe, that is what Fake Us think about Fan Fiction Us. What Real Us think about all of this is, of course, anyone’s guess.

Fake Bono: I need a drink. Happy Pride, y’all!

Fake Bono (again): And that’s it for now, U2 fans — you miraculous Target display of Skittles, M&Ms and Smarties! As yer person Rabbi Lili Solochek said, “May the holy one instill in us the wisdom to know our liberations are entwined together.” We love you!

* The Shiny Bedge image was created from a photo by Wilfredo Lee of the Associated Press (U2 in Miami, March 1992). The photo was cropped, enhanced using Remini, enhanced some more and given a glitter filter via Instagram, then enhanced even more using the iOS photo app. And the work, it was fun.

Kelly Eddington 3/2/23 Kelly Eddington 3/2/23

Dear BaE Volume 20: Fruity

Dear BaE,

What's Letterman *really* like? And how will you spend your free time this summer before the upcoming stint in Vegas?

Sincerely,

Beth

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Edge: Excellent question, Beth. We’ve been fans for a long time.

Fake Bono: Yes. We watched Late Night in countless hotel rooms across America in the 80s.

Fake Edge: Stupid Pet Tricks.

Fake Bono: Viewer Mail.

Fake Edge: When we were guests on the show, we noticed that Dave was under a great deal of pressure to deliver night after night. So while he was and is clearly a comedic genius, he could be a little—what’s the word, Bono?

Fake Bono: Prickly? Sarcastic?

Fake Edge: Acerbic?

Fake Bono: Trenchant?

Fake Edge: But since he left the treadmill of his show, he seems a lot happier.

Fake Bono: Yeah, he’s still on television, but he’s doing it his way, on his timetable, and he answers to no one but himself. Dave gives zero fucks, and clearly this mindset agrees with him.

Fake Edge: We could learn a thing or two from David Letterman.

Fake Bono: Yes, we could.

Fake Edge: What do you want to do this summer?

Fake Bono: Let’s grow big white beards and give zero fucks, Edge.

Fake Edge: Sounds good to me.

Dear BaE,

On a scale of 1 to 10, how adorable are you guys in the upcoming Disney+ documentary? Will we need to wear protective gear due to cuteness rays?

Diane

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Diane, we are going to bypass 10 and go directly to 11.

Fake Edge: Why don’t we just make 10 slightly more adorable?

Fake Bono: Because we go to 11.

Fake Edge: Odd numbers stress me out.

Fake Bono: You are an odd number.

Fake Edge: Please. I am a rational number.

Fake Bono: You are an oblate spheroid.

Fake Edge: Do you even know what that is?

Fake Bono:

Fake Edge: Anyway, what should we tell Diane about the cuteness rays?

Fake Bono: Soak ‘em up, Diane. Soak ‘em up.

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

How do y'all manage to pull off being so incredibly fruity without anyone other than the most dedicated U2 fans noticing?

Chloe

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Edge: What you said on Twitter was so good, B.

Fake Bono: “The fans who find us fruity are certainly preferable to the fans who find us cheesy.”

Fake Edge: When you’ve been in a band for as long as we have, relationships form that are unlike those of normal people. We’re more than friends, and I would even say we’re more than brothers.

Kelly Eddington: [yelling from her office] YOU ARE EVOLVED MEN.

Fake Edge: I think the average person writes off our affection for each other as just some goofy band thing. They know we have wives and children and assume nothing “fruity” is going on.

Fake Bono: But when you create art with another person, an indescribable and deeper bond forms.

Fake Edge: It transcends everything else. It’s impossible to categorize.

Fake Bono: The other day, Adam came right out and said that U2 is made of two marriages: Adam and Larry, and you and me.

Fake Edge: He’s right. I do love you.

Fake Bono: And I love you, Edge.

PJ DeGenaro: [screaming from the break room] YOU ARE EVOLVED MEN!

Dear BaE,

Where’s Adam and Larry also I’ve got to admit you’re even better than the real thing

Weird Robin in 3D

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Edge: Hello, Weird. I’m not sure what your question is.

Fake Bono: Weird’s question, dear Edge, is the same one we get day and night from our fans every time we do a social media post—an inquiry as to the whereabouts of Adam and Larry. And I think they were also trying to pay us a compliment. Thank you, Weird! We do try to be even better than the real thing, child.

Fake Edge: But there’s no punctuation.

Fake Bono: Now Edge, let’s not get all elitist on people’s arses.

Fake Edge: You’re right, B, and I offer Weird Robin a half-hearted apology. Anyway, I’m sure all of our readers will be thrilled to know that we have Fake Adam right here, and he has agreed to address a few key issues.

Fake Adam: Hi.

Fake Bono: Hi, Adam. Will you please tell Weird Robin and everyone out there in U2-Land what’s happening with you and Larry?

Fake Adam: Of course. Well, like all men, Larry waits till he’s absolutely at death’s door to see a doctor. Goodness knows I tried to tell him. I said, “Larry, if you keep letting these things go, it’ll be too late to do anything about them. And then what?” But he just has to be a big baby. Every time he gets a paper cut, you’d think he’d opened up an artery. The hysteria! And did I tell you what happened when we got lost on the way to the new Aldi up in Stony Point? Okay, yes, it is absolutely wilderness once you go north of NYC, and our GPS was acting up, but do you think this man could pull into a petrol station and ask for directions? Of course not. I had to get out and flirt with the attendant until—

Fake Bono: Adam, what the actual feck are you on about?

Fake Adam: Well, since I let it slip on U2 X-Radio that I’m Larry’s wife, I thought I might as well start acting like it.

Fake Bono: Oh, that sounds like fun!

Fake Edge: Do not even think about it.

Fake Bono: We’ll discuss it later after the kids are in bed. Anyway, I think we really should address our fans’ concerns about Larry. So tell us, Adam. Where is Larry?

Fake Adam: Larry is [checks notes] at home on the Couch, watching the Game.

Fake Bono: And that’s it for now, U2 fans, you Volkswagen full of candy-colored clowns! As yer person Cricket Hall said, “May the rainbow of love enfold you; may your fluidity never be hindered.” We love you!

Kelly Eddington 1/13/23 Kelly Eddington 1/13/23

Dear BaE Volume 19: Bupkes

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

Not really a question but more a statement:

Dublin is a great city and i love it why is it so amazing

Kind regards,

Chloe

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Glad you like the Dirty Old Town, darlin’.

Fake Edge: Which we put on the map!

Fake Bono: It’s true. Before us, it was all just cockles and muscles.

Fake Edge: You mean mussels, Bono.

Fake Bono: Whatever.

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

Are there any hobbies you want to pick up in 2023? Or any recommendations for hobbies, if you have any suggestions for me?

Sincerely,

Nina

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Edge: Interesting question, Nina. I’m considering taking up extreme ironing.

Fake Bono: Really?

Fake Edge: No. How about you, B? Any hobbies you want to pick up while we wait for music critics half our age to type words about how we’re ruining our legacy?

Fake Bono: Yes. I think I would like to support wild birds.

Fake Edge: You mean, you’d like to support wild bird populations by planting native hedges, installing bird boxes and creating water reserves, such as bird baths?

Fake Bono: No, I mean by standing very still in my garden and letting them build nests on me. Why are you laughing?

Fake Edge: I’m not laughing.

Fake Bono: Don’t lie to the people, The Edge. You are in hysterics.

Fake Edge: It’s just that you have never once stood still, ever, in your life.

Fake Bono: Yes I have. But I stand still in very short increments, about a nano-second at a time. Your poor human eyes cannot perceive my preternatural stillness.

Fake Edge: I don’t think the birds will be able to perceive it either.

Fake Bono: Look, I don’t need hobbies. My life is a hobby.

Fake Edge: Maybe we should move on to the next letter.

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

Do you have any unusual or unique talents that we do not know about?

Love,

Lucy

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Yes.

Fake Edge: Dozens.

Dear sirs,

Through sheer dumb luck, I've yet to hear Gloria live. What are the chances it's a set list regular on the next tour? And if it does make the tour, can I let you know which city/date we're at for a Bono shout out like "for our good friend Mike." That would be great.

Michael

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Edge: 18.7%, and no.

Fake Bono: Care to expand on that one?

Fake Edge: Not especially.

Fake Bono:

Fake Edge: Our setlist is painstakingly constructed to tell a story. We agonize over what gets included. It cannot accommodate requests or even changes in Bono’s stage patter.

Fake Bono: He keeps me on a tight leash, Mike!

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

In the early 80s, Bono seemed to think satin pants symbolized everything vacuous and tawdry about the music industry. What are today’s satin pants?

U2 Fan Polls

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Actually, I would like to re-imagine that statement.

Fake Edge: Nice tie-in.

Fake Bono: I want to return to the days when pop stars wore pants of any kind.

Dear BaE,

What did you think about Larry's eyebrow roll over the rendition of “Walk On” at the Kennedy Center Honors? Watch Larry at about the 2:50 point of this video.

Greggy

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Ladies? Greggy has included a video. Would either of you care to make a gif of that moment?

Kelly Eddington: I’m all over it.

Fake Bono: Thank you.

Kelly: Enjoy.

Fake Edge: (Did she seem…subdued?)

Fake Bono: (No idea.)

Fake Edge: Let’s see this gif. Yes. At first I was unsure about what Greggy meant by “eyebrow roll,” but now I understand.

Fake Bono: It’s like an eye roll, but in eyebrow form.

Fake Edge: So what do we think about this?

Fake Bono: We were told that the Kennedy Center’s cameras would be on us at all times. As we sat there in our finery—and may I say you looked smashing in your sparkly tux?

Fake Edge: Yes you may, and so did you. I continue to wear those ribbons around the house.

Fake Bono: Me too! Anyway, as we sat there, we had the good sense to behave ourselves, and we reacted the way we were expected to react. Look at Adam, nodding professorially. And you and I were completely in sync with our expressions of, well, disbelief.

Fake Edge: But Larry…

Fake Bono: Larry possesses a hair-trigger bullshit detector. Plus he has no internal censor. This is why he tends to hang back during band interviews. Years may pass without comment from our drummer. But when he deigns to sound off for whatever baffling reason, Larry does not hesitate to say exactly what he thinks.

Fake Edge: This is usually a good thing, but sometimes his words can be blunt.

Fake Bono: Ill-timed.

Fake Edge: Shocking.

Fake Bono: Firestorm-starting.

Fake Edge: That also applies to Larry’s non-verbal responses.

Fake Bono: I’ve been on the receiving end of his eyebrow rolls more times than I can count. And it’s usually when I attempt vocal gymnastics that are…what’s the word, Edge?

Fake Edge: Piercing? Overwrought? Painful?

Fake Bono: Any of those. Larry simply cannot help himself, and it doesn’t matter if the cameras are on him or not.

Fake Edge: What can we say? Larry’s gonna Larry.

Dear Fake Edge,

We didn’t receive a Songs Of Surrender hype letter from Real You and are feeling sad.

Love,

Anonymous and Anonymous

Fort Lee, New York and Fort Lee, Missouri

Fake Bono: I could be wrong, but I feel like I know who these anonymouses are.

Fake Edge: Anonymouses?

Fake Bono: Anonymice?

Fake Edge: Do you hear sobbing? I think it’s coming from the break room.

Fake Bono: Oh no, is PJ back on the doughnuts again? Remember when she found out that Severance ended on a cliffhanger?

Fake Edge: Indeed. It was carnage. Crumbs everywhere.

PJ: Do not speak about my doughnuts.

Fake Bono: Jaysis! Do you have to sneak up on us like that?

PJ: All I wanted was one measly photocopied letter from Real You. I write glowing essays about you. I defend you on social media against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I am the Actual Poet Laureate of the U2 fandom. And what do I get? Bupkes!

Fake Bono: Bupkes?

Fake Edge: Bupkes: from the Yiddish (probably short for kozebubkes, literally, goat droppings), plural of bubke, bobke, diminutive of bub, bob bean, of Slavic origin; akin to Polish bób bean—

Fake Bono: I’ve got it, Edge. Thanks.

Kelly: Hello again.

Fake Bono: Jaysis!

Kelly: We’re just…confused. What else does Real U2 want from us? We love them. We paint them. We write tributes to their noses. We have been doing this for decades, and…bupkes.

Fake Edge: Oh dear. Let’s make some calls.

[ten minutes pass]

Fake Edge: Okay. Real U2 are concerned about the excessive amount of time and energy you’ve devoted to Bono’s book and this site in general lately. Three extensive articles. One book parody. Four major paintings and numerous line drawings. One blockbuster 20th anniversary post. Feisty commentary about theater etiquette. A poem about Larry.

Fake Bono: Real U2 appreciate your extraordinary efforts and all the free advertising.

Fake Edge: Those photocopied letters from Real Me were sent to fans with the expectation that they would promote Songs Of Surrender.

Fake Bono: The fact that you did not receive photocopies was not a slight. Real U2 are worried about you and encourage you to sit this one out if you like. You should not feel obligated to create watercolor-based U2 humor or agonize over think-pieces that your fellow fans simply cannot find anywhere else.

Fake Edge: They want you to recharge and maybe have a little fun this spring. Real Me wrote actual letters on archival-grade, handmade stationery to the two of you relaying this message, and it pains us to say this but—

Fake Bono: —our intern Fergus accidentally dropped your letters off the Cliffs of Moher.

Kelly and PJ: [wailing]

Fake Edge: There, there.

Fake Bono: Have a doughnut.

Fake Bono: And that’s it for now, U2 fans—you perky mob of mercurial meerkats! As yer man John O’Donohue said, “May the nourishment of the earth be yours, may the clarity of light be yours, may the fluency of the ocean be yours, may the protection of the ancestors be yours.” We love you!

Kelly Eddington 10/29/22 Kelly Eddington 10/29/22

Dear BaE Volume 18: Egg Moment

Dear BaE,

Amid rumors that U2 will be touring next year, I’m thinking of bringing my now 7-year old twins to the show. Do you see a lot of children at your shows? Any advice? Any plans to make the show family friendly for your young fans?

—U2 Fan Polls

via Twitter, but probably in New Jersey

Fake Edge: I believe that children are the future, but…

Fake Bono: Oh, you’ve seen enough to know it’s children who teach, buuut…

Fake Edge: Pity the nation that won’t listen to your boys and girls, however…

Fake Bono: My dear U2 Fan Polls, if that is your name—hey, isn’t Fan Polls a book by Willem Defoe?

Fake Edge: You’re thinking of Moll Flanders, by Daniel Defoe.

Fake Bono: I know that, The Edge. I’m just stalling for time. My dear Fan Polls, we are justifiably proud of our multi-generational fanbase, and of course we are overjoyed when older fans introduce our music to a new generation. Surely you’ve seen the crowd videos from our most recent tours, in which our poor intern, Fergus from Dingle, manages to locate every woman under the age of 25 who happens to be jumping up and down. Not that we watch those videos!

Fake Edge: Of course not.

Fake Bono: What I mean to say is, we are all about being relevant to the youth. And yes, young children do attend our shows, and they are always welcome. (You can protect their hearing with this fine product.) So by all means, bring your seven-year-old twins along to whatever it is we’re actually going to do next year!

Fake Edge: And since you’re bringing them, please know that we are willing to reconsider asking the Orgazma O’Plenty All-Drag Pole Dancing Team to be our opening act.

Fake Bono: (Sigh.) Can we at least keep the part where the MDMA-filled balloons drop from the ceiling?

Fake Edge: Definitely. It wouldn’t be a U2 show without them!

Dear BaE

I heard that #U2 basically had finished #SongsOfAssent—which real #Bono called “awesome”—but that #U2 nevertheless decided to “hold” it in favor of releasing something with “unreasonable” guitars. #U2fam wants both. Why not both?

— U2 Fan Polls,

Clearly in New Jersey

Fake Bono: Fanny Hill, is that you again?

Fake Edge: I think you mean “Polly Fanders.”

Fake Bono: Right. My dearest Polly, we finished Songs of Ascent (love your typographical error, but we’re sticking with the original title) a long time ago. We’re holding it because frankly, we just don’t think you can handle it.

Fake Edge: Not you personally, Moll—we just don’t think anyone can handle it. Let’s face it, no one is ready to hear Bono shouting his own translation of the Dead Sea Scrolls into a megaphone whilst I accompany him on a custom-built yaybahar.

Fake Bono: And that, my darling U2 Flander Polls, is why we’re gonna give you a record that sounds just like early AC/DC instead. I’m sure Ryan Tedder will be the perfect producer for that! Don’t you agree, Fake The Edge?

Fake Edge: Most assuredly.

Dear Fake Bono,

What on earth did you mean when you described yourself as a quote "lesbian trapped in a man's body" in the Sydney Lovetown TV special? Furthermore, are you aware of how much of an egg moment that is?

Chloe

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: (Did I actually say that?)

Fake Edge: (Possibly.)

Fake Bono: (What is an egg moment?)

Fake Edge: (One second.) …Urban Dictionary says an egg is “trans slang for a person who hasn't realized they're trans yet. Usually they show telltale behavior of a trans person despite not knowing, like 'ironically' crossdressing or writing shitty fanfiction about trans people. The word comes from the idea that they haven't ‘cracked out of their shell’ like an egg.”

Fake Bono: My fanfiction is not shitty, I’ll have you know.

Fake Edge:

Fake Bono: I’ve received some very nice comments.

Fake Edge: We engaged in crossdressing half a lifetime ago. For art. Was it ironic?

Fake Bono: Maybe? I don’t even know anymore. But I’m not trans; sorry to disappoint.

Fake Edge: So the reason you said you’re a lesbian trapped in a man’s body is because—

PJ DeGenaro: [yelling from another room] Dudes used to say things like this 30+ years ago to epater les bourgeoisie! They were trying to say that their love for women was much better and hotter than those OTHER dudes' love for women. It was pretty dumb.

Kelly Eddington: [yelling from another room] Can confirm!

Fake Bono: Well, my excellence in the bedroom has never been called into question. I was merely implying that, like many artists, I contain multitudes. Yes. Statistically speaking, it stands to reason that at least one of the people I contain is a lesbian. Probably many more!

Fake Edge: He’s a nice bunch of guys and, uh, gals, Chloe.

Fake Bono: The multitudes Edge contains in his perfectly egg-shaped head include extraterrestrials and angels.

Fake Edge: I would just like to add that if you’re in the mood for a quality egg moment, I highly recommend this easy copycat recipe for Starbucks’ egg bites, except I bake mine for 23 minutes, not 30.

Fake Bono: His head also contains amateur chefs.

Dear BaE,

I'd just like to sing the praises of Achtoonbaby / DearBAE. That's all.

Bethany

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Well, aren't you precious?

Fake Edge: We appreciate your kind words, Bethany.

Fake Bono: This column is a lark and an excuse for us to spend time together.

Fake Edge: We…are independently wealthy. But please know that you can and should support the women of Achtoonbaby by buying them the occasional Ko-fi or becoming a patron of Mother Achtoon. This helps her pay for web hosting and art supplies.

Fake Bono: What about PJ?

Fake Edge: I assume they have some kind of arrangement where M.A. sends PJ little watercolors of us from time to time. But who can really say?

Fake Bono: Oh, Mother Achtoon. She's been painting us for nearly twenty years, but she’s still a poor mountaineer who barely keeps her family fed.

Fake Edge: A cautionary tale to be sure.

Fake Bono: We may be independently wealthy, but if you wish, you can support The Edge and myself by attending as many of our concerts as possible and purchasing our music in every available format. And we would appreciate it if you refrained from buying unofficial U2 merchandise, even if it is much cuter and less expensive than our official merchandise. Finally, I sincerely hope you will help my memoir Surrender become a number one New York Times best seller this week. Remember: it's not enough to buy the hardcover version. You will need the audiobook as well. I will read it to you very slowly and sensually, and don’t be surprised if I chuckle at my own wit and wisdom here and there.

Fake Edge: It's a treasure trove of all things Bono. You will not be disappointed.

Fake Bono: Everyone who's read it says it needs more Edge.

Fake Edge: Everyone except for me.

Fake Bono: When will you write your own memoir? People have been asking.

Fake Edge: I'm too busy trying to make our music work inside a sphere at the moment.

Fake Bono: I’ll allow it.

Fake Edge: You know, I feel kind of bad about the way we handled the Songs of Ascent question up there. I think we owe anyone who has read this far the truth.

Fake Bono: Yes. If you’re reading this, you’re clearly the hardest of the hardcore U2 fans. And frankly, I’m weary of the subterfuge. Tell them, Edge.

Fake Edge: We’ve had an eye on our legacy since we were teenagers. Why does it take us years to record our albums? It’s because we create two “shadow albums” alongside each one. These recordings are placed in a vault and are not discussed again.

Fake Bono: Adam slipped up around thirteen years ago when he mentioned Songs of Ascent, and the fans have not been able to let that one go.

Fake Edge: Again, the reason for all of this is our legacy. Once the four of us have passed on, Phase Two of our career will begin.

Fake Bono: For the next one hundred years, we will release the shadow albums one at a time at predictable, to-be-determined intervals.

Fake Edge: This is why we are so passionate about courting the next generations of U2 fans. They will be the audience for the shadow albums, and so will their children and grandchildren.

Fake Bono: And we know what you’re thinking: What about current fans? We have you covered.

Fake Edge: We know who you are. We have access to unlimited data about you. As our most devoted fans inevitably reach their final days, U2 will be there.

Fake Bono: Our representatives will find you and allow you to listen to the shadow albums as many times as possible, including Songs of Ascent. We will be there with you as you enter the sweet hereafter, and we will see you on the other side.

Fake Edge: We have begun beta-testing this initiative with some of our fans who are sadly no longer with us. All of them experienced feelings of bafflement and ecstasy at this new music, and so will you.

Fake Bono: Wow.

Fake Edge: There it is.

Fake Bono: It’s finally out there.

Fake Edge: …Wanna provide a link to your fanfiction?

Fake Bono: To you? Yes. To everyone else? No.

Aaaaand that’s it for now, U2 fans—you glorious book of non-fictitious characters, going with us as we traverse this singular, beautiful planet!

As yer man said in SAM 57:7, my heart is steadfast, my heart is steadfast! I will sing and make music…so watch out!

We love you!

Kelly Eddington 7/13/22 Kelly Eddington 7/13/22

Dear BaE Volume 17: Fin

Dear BaE,

This question is for Fake Bono. Oi, mate: we was on our tea break at Sushi Mania in Golders Green, ‘avin’ a quick shufti at the News of the World and The Sun, when we run across several pictures of you sittin’ at a restaurant in Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, tuckin’ into an absolutely towerin’ plate of seafood. Now unlike most blokes in East London, we got nuffin’ against you U2 paddies. But we’re concerned about your ‘ealth. Pop stars are meant to be fin! T-H-I-N, fin! But you’re lookin’ like 2.5 Peter Murphys stuck together (roughly the equivalent of 6.37 Richard Ashcrofts). It’s not on, mate. You’re not gettin’ any younger. Sort yourself out. Also your hair.

Derek and Clive*

Ft. Lee, East London, UK

Fake Edge: Oh dear.

Fake Bono: I am enraged.

Fake Edge: I wonder how this got past the screeners.

Fake Bono: What screeners? It’s literally just Fergus the Intern on the Dingle Peninsula! And we’ll have to have a little “touch-base” with him once McComcast fixes his internet.

Fake Edge: So are you going to—

Fake Bono: Enraged. And OUTraged! RAGE-raged!

Fake Edge: Understandably. But are you going to answer the—

Fake Bono: Answer whom? You mean these two vulgar Cockney motherfu—

Fake Edge: Bono.

Fake Bono: Yes, I’m going to answer them. Give me a minute to properly get my Irish up.

Fake Edge: Pardon me?

Fake Bono: Oh, it’s a colloquialism.

Fake Edge: Fine.

Fake Bono: Ahem.

Dear Derek and Clive:

Thank you for your nice letter. I certainly hope you enjoyed your tea break at Sushi Mania (Whadja have? California rolls, I’ll bet) and your dalliance with two venerable publications which—when not bemoaning the decline of British ethnic purity in a way that would make even Eric Clapton cringe—manage to find space amongst the bosomy barely-legals of their celeb pages to share paparazzi photos of me. Eating lunch. With my wife.

Derek and Clive, I am sixty-two years old. I have been working my superbly rounded arse off in the music industry since age sixteen. I have sustained numerous injuries and survived several surgeries, and each time managed to bounce back in a matter of months to embark on strenuous, ambitious world tours with my band. Therefore your fast-food-sushi-tea-break-tabloid assumptions about my health are spurious.

Still, I must apologize for having failed to remain 25-to-30 years younger than my current age. God knows I tried.

Regarding my hair: I’m a musician, not your mommy an accountant. And women like to touch it. Sort that.

But Derek and Clive, in the interest of fairness, I think I’d like to make an assessment of your health based on your appearance. So send candid, full-length, unretouched photos of yourselves (trousers on, please) to:

Fergus Ó Súilleabháin, The Intern

Blustering Squall Lane

Dingle, Éire

I’m not a doctor, but Fake Edge has taken a First Aid course so he can help me.

Fake Edge: It’s true; I can.

Fake Bono: The “2.5 Peter Murphys” bit was kinda funny though.

Dear BaE,

The other night it occurred to me that Kate Bush might be the female equivalent of Prince. And then I wondered: in terms of artistry, who is the female equivalent of Bono? Please advise.

Andre

Ft. Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: FINALLY. A question that does not inspire justifiable homicide. I’m tempted to simply declare my equivalent to be no less than Beyonce, call it a day, and tuck into an absolutely towering plate of seafood.

Fake Edge: Now, now. We owe Andre’s question at least a modicum of thought.

Fake Bono: Well, why not Beyonce?

Fake Edge: She is certainly on your level as a compelling performer. Great songwriter—not that Grammys are a barometer of quality, but she’s won more Grammys than we have.

Fake Bono: Six more, but who’s counting? So. Beyonce it is.

Fake Edge: Hold on.

Fake Bono: You can be Jay-Z.

Fake Edge: But, see, she’s too polished and choreographed to be the female you. We need a legend, clearly, but she has to have a little more edge, so to speak.

Fake Bono: Well, whoever it is needs to have…160 pounds of edge, is that about right? 165?

Fake Edge: My weight is nobody’s business.

Fake Bono: Bloody Derek and Clive. I’m still—

Fake Edge: I’ve got it. And you may have to use your imagination here, Bono. But what about Judy Garland?

Fake Bono: Seriously?

Fake Edge: I could make a case for Barbra Streisand, too.

Fake Bono: She’s got the nose.**

Fake Edge: Judy Garland is a legend. Utterly beloved by her fans and in the business since she was a teenager. She has your power as a vocalist but also your vulnerability. But she’s not a songwriter. Hmm.

Fake Bono: Edge, if I may?

Fake Edge: Who do you have?

Fake Bono: Ms. Tina. Turner.

Fake Edge: Ooh.

Fake Bono: Humble beginnings. Impressive career longevity. Wrote a lot of her own songs. In the 80s, her hair rivaled my own in terms of volume. She is a dynamo onstage and a little rough around the edges, so to speak.

Fake Edge: And she performs in high heels, too.

Fake Bono: Damn it. She’s better than me. They all are.

Fake Edge: Apples and oranges.

Fake Bono: Now that I think about it, this very website granted me Honorary Woman status a couple of years ago. One of the reasons? My fucking weight is monitored and judged as much as any woman’s.

Fake Edge: This is true.

Fake Bono: So, Andre, if I may be so bold, the female equivalent of Bono is Bono.

Fake Edge:

Fake Bono: Christ. Women.

Fake Edge: Women!

Fake Bono: Women are the greatest and more than worthy of our love and respect and the same rights as everyone else. If anything, they deserve more rights.

Fake Edge: Indeed.

Fake Bono: And that’s another column to wrap your leftover seafood in, U2 fans—you adorable tank of tetras! To paraphrase myself: Big persons are best. Oh yeah yeah yeah. We love you!

Kelly Eddington 3/27/22 Kelly Eddington 3/27/22

Dear BaE Volume 16: Emo

Dear BaE,

As a U2 fan, I’ve defended your actions over the years to friends, family, and people online. I am happy to do this because I believe in you. Last week’s Netflix series announcement triggered numerous debates among fans (good idea vs. bad idea). This was unsurprising, but some of the naysayers claimed that U2’s backstory isn’t compelling enough to justify a series. What is your response to fans who say “there is no there there”?

Trudy

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: And these people call themselves fans?

Fake Edge: I think anyone who keeps track of us when we’re not releasing an album or touring is probably, technically a fan.

Fake Bono: Excuse me while I fume. [fumes]

Fake Edge: Trudy, we knew the idea of a U2 series would be polarizing. In fact, our overlords here in Achtoonbaby Tower are not in complete alignment. One of them is intrigued and cautiously optimistic, while the other—

PJ: [yells from her cubicle] Your backstory is so compelling that I don't want anyone to touch it!

Fake Edge: Shall I mark you down as a conscientious objector, then?

PJ: Yes.

Fake Edge: Oh. Hello there.

PJ: Hello. It’s just: how the hell is this ragtag band of Dublin teenagers playing in a contest in Limerick and facing off against show bands and WINNING not fucking compelling? How is the fact that both Bono and Larry lost their moms as teenagers not compelling? How is Mrs. Edge and her car not compelling? How is Adam's depression not compelling? A good writer could wring the TEARS and BLOOD out of all of this!

Fake Bono: …Did she leave already?

Fake Edge: Yes. Still fuming?

Fake Bono: I’ve moved on to seething. [seethes] The thing is, I have been writing about our backstory for much longer than anyone had anticipated, and do you know why? Because it’s a fucking fairy tale loaded with so much magic and tragedy—

Fake Edge: Magedy?

Fake Bono: —that I devoted over 100,000 words to our school days alone. This autobiography has exploded into multiple tomes, Edge, and I’m making myself weep on a daily basis. And our own fans say our story doesn’t merit a lousy 3-season Netflix series? How dare they.

Fake Edge: I’m every bit as outraged as you are.

Fake Bono: Now. Maybe our fans are used to watching movies and shows about bands whose lives are fraught with controversy. We’re relatively tame, I admit. We might make our fans cringe from time to time, but do we make them wince?

Fake Edge: It’s not like we engage in violent in-fighting.

Fake Bono: We haven’t gone bankrupt and hit the state fair circuit.

Fake Edge: None of us has been sent to prison.

Fake Bono: No #MeToo scandals.

Fake Edge: No private islands.

Fake Bono: No SpaceX aspirations.

Fake Edge: yet

Fake Bono: Our names might be a little juvenile, but at least they’re not unpronounceable symbols.

Fake Edge: No Jeffrey Epstein connections.

Fake Bono: No NFT stuff.

Fake Edge: yet

Fake Bono: No sex tapes.

Fake Edge:

Fake Bono: No plastic surgery addictions.

Fake Edge: No K-pop collaborations.

Fake Bono: No Trump collaborations!

Fake Edge: But.

Fake Bono: But! I promise you, fans, we have plenty of material. You will not be bored with our little show. I’ll take it one step further: we will elevate the bio-series form! And we’ll cast adorable young actors-slash-musicians who will look exactly the way you remember us. Except…I do worry that no one will come close to matching Edge’s celebrated bone structure.

Fake Edge: And if your actor’s face is even a little bit off, I don’t know if I’ll be able to lose myself in the narrative.

Fake Bono: …This is going to be impossible.

Fake Edge: We’ve bitten off more than we can chew here.

Fake Bono: Fuck.

Fake Edge: Maybe it’ll be okay.

Fake Bono: Fuck!

Fake Edge: There, there.

Dear Fake Bono and Fake Edge,

When does the U2 Emo era begin?

Chloe

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Hi Chloe. We wanted to make sure we could answer your question properly, so we defaulted to the ol’ school essay trick of beginning with a definition. Ahem. According to The Merriam-Webster Dictionary, “Emo” is a style of rock music influenced by punk rock and featuring introspective and emotionally fraught lyrics.

Fake Bono: So to answer your question, Chloe, we can’t begin an Emo era because we invented Emo.

Fake Edge: Bono, we did not invent Emo.

Fake Bono: Edge, according to the definition (above), we most certainly did. We were influenced by punk rock, and my lyrics are extremely introspective and…that other thing.

Fake Edge: Emotionally fraught.

Fake Bono: Yes, emotionally fraught. In fact, I’ll go out on a limb and claim that Boy is the first-ever Emo record! I mean, in 1980, who else was writing songs about electro-shock therapy? Or naughty Irish girls who take the form of black cats and steal your innocence to the accompaniment of meowing guitars? Or picture books with color photographs, or comic strips that make you laugh? Or Lord of the Flies? I mean, my God, just listen to this:

Life through a window,

A discoloured pane!

Missus Brown’s washing is always the same!

I walk the sweet rain tragicomedy,

I’ll walk home again to the street melody!

Okay, I added some punctuation, but come on, that’s Emo.

Fake Edge: Well, if we’re going to define Emo as anything a young person scrawls into a notebook as “lyrics”—

Fake Bono: Do you have a problem with my lyrics?

Fake Edge: No no, I do not.

Fake Bono: Did I not sound appropriately introspective and emotionally fraught singing them?

Fake Edge: I mean, a little? But there’s a certain tone to Emo singing. Lots of audible inhalations, and a feeling of clenched teeth, and a way of over-enunciating certain words, thus rendering them stupefyingly obnoxious.

Fake Bono: Example?

Fake Edge: The way the guy from Fall Out Boy sings, “I’m not WHOA-KAYY!” https://youtu.be/dhZTNgAs4Fc?t=59

Fake Bono: Oh my God, Edge, you mean My Chemical Romance, not Fall Out Boy. How are you so cringe? But it’s true, I would never sing like that. On the other hand, what could possibly be more Emo than my Mr. MacPhisto fursona singing “Can’t Help Falling In Love” and weeping?

Fake Edge: Ehm, you don’t actually know what a “fursona” is, do you.

Fake Bono: Never mind that. Answer my question.

Fake Edge: That wasn’t Emo, Bono. It was emotional, but not Emo. (Also, you only chose that song because PJ wanted to watch the video.) Look, you can be sad and wear eyeliner and still not be Emo. Do we consider Depeche Mode or The Cure to be Emo?

Fake Bono: I think most right-thinking people consider The Cure “Goth.”

Fake Edge: Then you’re Goth too. At least when you wear your B-stage outfits.

Fake Bono: Fine. I’m Goth.

Fake Edge: Another thing: It seems to me that Emo singers work really hard to keep a kind of adolescent edge to their voices. But your voice has always had a strongly masculine tone that can also be oddly soft and inviting.

Fake Bono: I think I’ve managed to keep an adolescent Edge around here somewhere.

Fake Edge: Stop that. I said what I said.

Fake Bono: Can we consider my strongly masculine yet oddly soft and inviting voice…Goth?

Fake Edge: Sure, why not?

Fake Bono: Then it has been decided. Sorry Chloe, but U2 are Goth.

Fake Edge: Where are you going?

Fake Bono: Gonna stand in an old graveyard and gaze at my shoes for a while.

Fake Edge: Next up: Are Goth and Shoe-Gaze the same thing, or totally different?

Fake Bono: Aaaand that’s another column for the Black Parade, U2 fans! Let’s shout it loud and clear, defiant to the end! We love you!

Kelly Eddington 2/5/22 Kelly Eddington 2/5/22

DearBaE Volume 15: Jacket

Dear Fake BaE,

This question is a little unconventional since it comes from the two of us to you two. Well, to Fake Edge mostly, but we suspect Fake Bono was involved.

Janice: Fake Edge, you must have thousands of gorgeous jackets and coats. You are a walking fashion plate for stylish jackets and outerwear. Do you keep track of them, along with your hats, and when/where you wore each of them via spreadsheets?

Amy Beth: And we KNOW Fake Edge LOVES data! But if he keeps spreadsheets with all that data...how did Fake Edge end up wearing that tux jacket over a hoodie to the Sing 2 premiere? Was it a dare from Fake Bono?

Janice: Maybe they were running late because they forgot the time. Or were busy. Doing something. As they do.

Amy Beth: Hmmm. Right. Also was that the same tux jacket Fake Edge wore in the pool in Mumbai in 2019? Just wondering.

Love,

Janice & Amy Beth

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Thank you, Janice and Amy Beth, for bringing up the Sing 2 premiere.

Fake Edge: Here we go.

Fake Bono: But you’ve presented Edge with other questions, so I’ll wait for him to answer them first. Edge, was that the same tux jacket you wore in the pool in Mumbai?

Fake Edge: No. If you study the lapels and the color of the fabric, you’ll see that it was a totally different jacket on that day in Mumbai. We were fully prepared to wear identical jackets we didn’t mind ruining. The summer-weight wool was delicate and no match for the pool’s chlorinated water, I’m afraid.

Fake Bono: you’re bloody right to be afraid

Fake Edge: Excuse me?

Fake Bono: Moving on. Do you have a system or spreadsheet that keeps track of such things? (Actually, I’ll field this one, Edge.) The answer is a definitive NO. I’m not sure if you ladies have ever lived with a bonafide visionary whose creative genius is as formidable as that of The Edge—

Fake Edge: Ah, that’s sweet of you.

Fake Bono: —BUT. Let’s just say certain practical matters tend to fall by the wayside with him. Most of the time he can’t even remember whose jacket is whose.

Fake Edge: Guilty.

Fake Bono: When we are on tour, Edge’s clothing is immaculate because we hire people whose sole job is to look after our wardrobe. They are worth their weight in gold. But when left to his own devices, this man simply cannot be bothered, and this has been the case since that day in Mumbai. His walk-in closet at his home in Los Angeles is packed to the brim with a jumble of jackets, jeans, t-shirts, and hats.

Fake Edge: Now listen, B. Of the four of us, who is responsible for coming up with most of the—

Fake Bono: Obviously it’s you. And it’s fine. I love that you spend your days and nights holed up in your home studio. Again: visionary. Genius. Tedious chores such as laundry are clearly beneath you.

Fake Edge: Thanks.

Fake Bono: So, ladies, when Edge needs to make an off-season public appearance, he buys something new, and upon wearing it, he adds it to his…many piles. This strategy works for him until a last-minute, emergency request comes up, and he has no time to go shopping, so he is forced to draw from the piles. This explains the old jeans, the mismatched tux jacket, the hooded sweatshirt—

Fake Edge: It was cold! And I like wearing hoodies to movies. They’re cozy, and they have that pouch where you can hide candy. Also, this one featured Botticelli’s Venus. Goddess of love.

Fake Bono: Goddess of stains.

Fake Edge: How many times do I have to apologize for that?

Fake Bono: Our fans were concerned when they saw the photos. “It’s a kids’ movie. Why does Bono look so grim?” And so on. Fans: Edge had a stain on his hoodie!

Fake Edge: Once again, I am sorry.

Fake Edge: In front of Matthew McConaughey, even!

Fake Edge: I don’t think he or anyone else noticed.

Fake Bono: You’re probably right. Christ, look at us.

Fake Edge: It was a fun night. All eyes were on you. And I love your new jacket.

Fake Bono: You noticed! And look at you, my magnificent friend. You didn’t have to go, but you knew I was out of my element, and I didn’t want to be there alone.

Fake Edge: Anything for you, B.

Fake Bono: Thank you, darlin’.

Dear BaE,

I’m only a casual U2 fan, but I’d love to know what you make of the following tweet that I saw underneath a clip from It Might Get Loud :

I conragtulate (sic) [Edge] for admitting that sans that echo effect he was basically useless. We already knew but usually no guy's brave enough to admit it, so that took balls.

Jimmy Page is near incomparable to anyone but there's (sic) other great guitarists too, and legends. Edge isn;t (sic) one !

This fellow went on to say that U2 only became popular because they appeared in the aftermath of “True Rock,” when the only other music around was American hair metal. Again, these are not my words. I am merely sharing these inflammatory comments from some other person.

SteveVaiRulez117585309,

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Well. Conragtulations (sic), SteveVaiRulez117585309, on using the tweets of a (hopefully) 12-year-old boy to insult The Edge, and myself by association.

Fake Edge: Calm down, B. In fact, I’m going to ask you to go sit in the break room and do some yogic breathing, okay?

Fake Bono: Do I have to?

Fake Edge: No. But you do have to give me a chance to address this without blowing your top.

Fake Bono: I never blow my top! I never blow anything!

Fake Edge:

Fake Bono: Yeah, I don’t know why I said that, either.

Fake Edge: …Anyway, it might surprise SteveVaiRulez117585309 to learn that I am not at all offended by their question. Yes, I do in fact have balls, and I do welcome every opportunity to discuss the many convoluted branches of guitar-based rock, as well as my role in all of it.

Fake Bono: Let me get some popcorn.

Fake Edge: Let’s start with the supposition that U2 appeared in a dark musical void between Led Zeppelin’s In Through The Out Door (1979) and—just off the top of my hat—Bon Jovi’s first self-titled album (1984). If this is your only frame of reference, then yes, U2 would certainly have seemed like a bolt from the blue, with its strange guitarist who favored “echoey, atmospheric sonic landscapes” over the more familiar speedy regurgitations of 12-bar blues.

Fake Bono: Atmospheric sonic landscapes, boyeeeee!

Fake Edge: Bono…

Fake Bono: What, I’m your hype-man!

Fake Edge: Okay. You’re also spitting popcorn all over my shirt.

Fake Bono: Sorry. Wouldn’t want to stain anything.

Fake Edge: Drink some water. So anyway, as much as I wish U2 had popped up out of nowhere with absolutely no context or influences—because that would make us some kind of miracle—it just simply isn’t true. And to imply otherwise demonstrates real ignorance of certain seminal bands and styles of rock music.

Fake Bono: Seminal! Tell ‘em about punk rock, The Edge!

Fake Edge: Long story short, punk rock eschewed—

Fake Bono: Eschewed, boyeeeee!

Fake Edge: —eschewed long, complicated solos by individual instrumentalists in favor of minimalism and a spirit of cooperation. Early U2 might not sound exactly like Television, The Clash, Patti Smith, Joy Division, or The Ramones, but if you listen to those bands you’ll hear where our early work—

Fake Bono: Which I love!

Fake Edge: Which Bono loves—ehm, you’ll hear where our early work actually makes a lot of sense in the great scheme of things.

Fake Bono: That’s right! And besides, Edge could absolutely step to the front, elbow me out of the way, strap on a Gibson EDS 1275 double-neck guitar with humbucking pickups, and play a 17-minute wank-fantasy solo that would blow your head clean off! (If he wanted to.)

Fake Edge: If I wanted to, which I do not. I have great admiration for guitarists who play that way, but it’s just not my style. It’s not our style.

Fake Bono: Right. Our band’s philosophy has always been that the songs are more important than the individual musician. We’ve stuck with that, and if it gives some people the impression that Edge (or Adam, or Larry) are somehow lacking in skills, so be it. But the truth is, you don’t survive for 40 years in this business without knowing what you’re doing.

Fake Edge: You think I know what I’m doing?

Fake Bono: Edge, you own an entire spectrum of musical colors—all silver and indigo and sparkly and weird—that were sadly lacking on commercial radio until you showed up. You are a mathematical guitar genius, the scientist of the group, a man sexually aroused by data, muy guapo, and a whole bunch of other shit I’ve said onstage at some point.

Fake Edge: Folks, he’s deluded. I actually do suck, and if it weren’t for the echo pedal, I’d still be in my parents’ garden shed in Malahide, trying desperately to play a bar chord.

Fake Bono: Yeah, it’s true. He sucks. So conradgulayshuns again, SteveVaiRulez117583509, you were right all along! And remember, you heard it first at DearBAE!

This is The Edge the lord has made! We will rejoice in him and be glad. — Psalm 118:24 (wink)

We love you!

Photo credits!

U2 in the pool: found on U2_thebestband on Instagram.

Bono in 2011 by Frazer Harrison from Getty Images North America.

Edge wearing that same jacket is from Variety ID/PR.

All Sing 2 red carpet photos are from Getty Images North America. See tons more of them here!

Kelly Eddington 1/15/22 Kelly Eddington 1/15/22

Dear BaE Volume 14: Hurdt

Dear Fake B & E,

I just bought a new IKEA-ish bookcase, and I wondered if Fake Edge could come over and put it together. Perhaps Fake Bono could supervise and provide light refreshments.

Amy Beth

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Bono, because Covid is still very much a concern, I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for Amy Beth’s bookcase to be delivered to our multipurpose room here at Achtoonbaby Tower. I’ll be more than happy to assemble it for you now, Amy Beth, and one of our carriers from Shipping and Receiving will deliver it to your home in Fort Lee, NJ.

Fake Bono: Meanwhile I’m supposed to…?

Fake Edge: Supervise and provide light refreshments.

Fake Bono: This sounds tedious, plus it sets a troubling precedent. What’s next? Readers asking us to mow their lawns and carry their luggage?

Fake Edge: We can always say no.

Fake Bono: I’ll see if we have any snacks in the break room. [exits]

Fake Edge: Amy Beth, I’m glad you asked me to do this because I enjoy assembling furniture. Now, I’m familiar with the Uppåatga bookcase, but I see this one’s a Fåhnapco. It doesn’t matter. I’m up to the challenge. First I’ll open the box and get organized: shelves over here, and these look like the sides, here’s the top and bottom, and this panel has to be the back. Next I’ll glance at the instructions and make sure I have all of the tools and parts. Wooden dowels, cam locks and screws, cute little nails, a couple dozen shelf holders, some of my own tools…looks like everything’s here. Oh hi, Bono.

Fake Bono: This was all I could find [displays box of Chicken In A Biskit snack crackers]. Those women have such pedestrian taste.

Fake Edge: Crackers that taste like chicken…and biscuits?

Fake Bono: In. I believe the chicken is supposed to be inside the biscuit. “Made with chicken, these baked crackers have a light, crunchy texture, and they're ideally seasoned.”

Fake Edge: May I have one?

Fake Bono: Are you sure?

Fake Edge: It’s all I’m asking.

Fake Bono: Here. Body of Chicken.

Fake Edge: Amen…ehm, those are delicious.

Fake Bono: I know. I’ve already had about ten of them. How’s it going?

Fake Edge: Well, I’m ready to start, and I thought I’d narrate the process for our readers.

Fake Bono: You have got to be kidding me. No one wants to read about bookshelf assembly.

Fake Edge: I don’t know, I thought—hey, did you steal those from PJ’s desk? Her bespoke U2 Christmas ornaments?

Fake Bono: I didn’t steal them so much as I set them free. Go ahead and finish your project, Edge. I’ll amuse myself.

Fake Edge: Why did they give me twelve dowels when I only need eight?

Fake Bono: Whilst Edge assembles Amy-Beth’s Fåhnapco with his remarkable tool set, I’m going to use PJ’s U2 Christmas ornaments to re-enact significant moments from our career. (Also some insignificant moments.) PJ won’t mind. She loves me very much. Sometimes I think I should get a restraining order a special doughnut for her, or something.

Anyway, I’ve been planning to play with these little geezers ever since she brought them into the office. So off I go with my phone and a stunning array of Apple’s default fonts.

First up: The aforementioned PJ claims she can hear a faint trace of my Irish accent in the studio version of “Streets.” That is nonsense, but maybe the following tableau will shut the oul wagon up.

Next, the Elevation tour in a single image:

And if you enjoyed that, wait till you see my tidy summation of Vertigo:

Some behind-the-scenes stuff. For this one, I took the advice of my daughter Eve, who said, “You should google ‘retro lolcats.’”

I know, I know. You’re not laughing at me. You’re laughing near me.

It’s a musical journey:

And finally, the true origin story of Songs of Innocence:

Fake Edge: Why does it smell like cloves over here? Are you still playing with those?

Fake Bono: Playing? This is high art, The Edge, and I fully plan to incorporate more photos of these geezers in our future columns. I see you’ve finished the bookcase. Well done!

Fake Edge: It’s a bit wobbly on the right side, but that gives it personality, I think. And I made sure to sign the back and make little drawings and notations and so on.

Fake Bono: Amy Beth will love it. I’m sure you’re feeling every bit as accomplished as I do right now. Where’s my flask? Ahh, here it is. A toast! To another year of questions and answers, our unique dynamic, furniture assembly, and arts and crafts!

Fake Edge: Cheers, mate.

Do you have a burning question for Fake Bono and Fake Edge? Follow them on Twitter (@DearBAEatu2) and ask! They are capable of answering questions about U2, questions that are related to U2, and questions that have nothing to do with U2 at all.
Note: Fake Bono and Fake Edge are not real. They are two people pretending to be them. They cannot put you in touch with U2. They cannot help you with your music career, and they have no plans to come to Brazil anytime soon.

Kelly Eddington 11/19/21 Kelly Eddington 11/19/21

Dear BaE Volume 13: Dark Welsh Soul

Welcome to our little advice column! You really can ask us (almost) anything, but please note: Dear BaE is written by two people who wish to remain anonymous, for entertainment purposes only. Neither Bono nor Edge are involved in any way except as they exist in our tiny little brains. No Bonos or Edges were harmed during the creation of this column. Enjoy!

Fake Edge: Before we get started, Fake Bono and I would like to apologize for our unexplained three month absence from our column.

Fake Bono: Which we love! We love writing this. It’s just...we’re busy men. We celebrated milestone anniversaries for two of our albums this fall. Ehm, Larry had a birthday. The fans are going wild over a U2 t-shirt that doesn’t have me on it. Oh: I’m in a movie!

Fake Edge: Yes, you are a movie star once again.

Fake Bono: You know how when a movie has a lot of stars, but in the opening credits and on the poster they save the biggest one for last? “Matthew McConaughey, Reese Witherspoon, Scarlett Johansson, et cetera, et cetera, more names, more names…”

Fake Edge: Yes.

Fake Bono: Then the last one gets an “and” next to their name as a sort of honorarium?

Fake Edge: I think we’ve all seen that.

Fake Bono: Okay, well try this on for size: “And Bono.” I’m the “and” star of Sing 2, The Edge!

Fake Edge: Congratulations.

Fake Bono: And my kids are telling me that you recently made an impressive cameo as well?

Fake Edge: Once again I appeared on the animated puberty gross-out series Big Mouth as a dick.

Fake Bono: Superb!

Fake Edge: [consults notes] This is not a question for us, but an anonymous member of the “U2fam” passed the following tweet along, and I think they want our reaction.

Fake Bono: Let me see.

My kind of shirt. :)

@U2ThreeChords

Fake Bono: Christ almighty, how did that throwaway quip escape the cutting room floor?

Fake Edge: You never know what our fans will embrace.

Fake Bono: I meant it as a joke. Sort of!

Fake Edge: People weren’t ready for irony in 1988. They were barely ready for it in 1991. One might question if they’re ready for it now.

Fake Bono: From the bottom of my heart, Edge, I would like to apologize for diminishing the magic of your guitar artistry.

Fake Edge: I mean, I like the blues. I have respect for the blues.

Fake Bono: But you don’t play the blues. What you play is indescribable. What you play is...weird sparkly shit. Which is what I should have said at this exact moment in time.

Fake Edge: You know? I kind of love that.

Fake Bono: I’M MAKING A SHIRT.

Dear Fake B & E,

Does Edge actually possess a "dark Welsh soul" as one of the books about U2 describes? Also, can he speak some Welsh for those who might be into that kind of thing *ahem*?

Amy Beth

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Oh yes, Amy Beth. I’m dark. And Welsh. I’m as dark and Welsh as a stormy December night in Abergwyngregyn.

Fake Bono: Absolute bollix. You are—and I don’t say this lightly—possibly the least dark person I’ve ever known.

Fake Edge: You’re mistaken. I’m dark. I’m as dark, dense, and tangled as the forest of Ffestiniog.

Fake Bono: I don’t think the state of your chest hair counts as darkness, The Edge.

Fake Edge: Look you, boyo—

Fake Bono: Oh, you’ve got him doing Pidgin Welsh, Amy Beth!

Fake Edge: Look, while you were doing the Locomotion with Kylie Minogue—

Fake Bono: I beg your pardon!

Fake Edge: —I was huddled up underneath my house, listening to Einstürzende Neubauten and baying at the moon like a veritable gwyllgi.

Fake Bono: I mean, the part about Einstürzende Neubauten is true, anyway.

Fake Edge: Okay. While it happens to be the case that I was born in England, moved to Ireland as a wee babe, and have never actually lived in Wales at all, the pull of one’s ancestral land is a powerful thing. And of course the Welsh have much in common with the Irish, such as centuries of colonization by the English, and native languages that are considered impenetrable by English-speaking folk—which is probably not a coincidence.

Fake Bono: Say something in your impenetrable native tongue for Amy Beth, my Oppressed Celtic Brother.

Fake Edge: Dyn bach ydych chi â cheg fawr.

Fake Bono: Hang on whilst I check Google Translate…oh, ffykk off, The Edge.

Fake Edge: Amy Beth, I am not at all fluent in Welsh. If you’d like to hear some real Welsh people absolutely scraping the backs of their throats with their own tongues, check out this brilliant and very dark police drama, which I binged in the early days of the pandemic. (You can also watch in English, because they filmed it twice!) And thank you for thinking about me, cariad.

😻😻😻Dear Mr Fake Bono,

What brand of hairspray do you use? 😂😂😂~🎵

@VassilliaGreen1

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Oh, Vassillia. Sweetheart. Unfortunately for you, I’m afraid my hairspray is not commercially available. It’s handmade for me by pioneering Swedish artisans who use weapons-grade polymers I’m not at liberty to discuss. I’ve said too much already. But I simply adore the way it smells. Edge, how would you describe it?

Fake Edge: [inhales] It’s like if a kitten approached me and placed a buttercup in my hand. It’s not really the scent of the buttercup, but it’s the way the buttercup makes me feel…? Does that make sense?

Fake Bono: It makes perfect sense. In my discussions with the Swedish artisans, translating that kitten/buttercup feeling into scent—whilst delivering uncompromising hold, mind you!—that was my top priority.

Fake Edge: I’ll go get it.

Fake Bono: No need!

Fake Edge: I’m getting it.

Fake Bono: Please keep in mind I share that bathroom with my daughters.

Fake Edge: Your house has 27 bathrooms. [exits]

Fake Bono: ... I hope all of you will enjoy my voice acting debut as Clay Calloway in Illumination’s Sing 2, distributed by Universal Pictures. Come along with Buster Moon and his friends as they attempt to persuade reclusive rock star Clay Calloway to join them for the opening of a new show. What begins as Buster's dream of big-time success soon becomes an emotional reminder of the power of—

Fake Edge: [yelling from bathroom] Göt2b Glued Blasting Freeze Spray: Screaming Hold For Hair, 12 ounces, $6.99!

Fake Bono: [yelling] But damned if it doesn’t smell like the buttercup thing, right?

Fake Edge: ... [yelling] It does!

Fake Bono: And that’s another column for the shredder, U2 fans—you superb little tin of butter cookies! As we enter the holiday season, which has been a bit of a difficult time these last couple of years, let’s try to summon up that “defiant joy” I’m always banging on about. As yer woman Maureen Killoran says, “Believe in your vision. Follow your dreams. And know always that, when you return to us, here you will find the hands of friends.” We love you!

Kelly Eddington 8/23/21 Kelly Eddington 8/23/21

Dear BaE Volume 12: Masterpiece

Dear BaE,

If you could be any vegetable, which would it be and why?

@BrianovichIV

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Cucumber.

Fake Edge: Zucchini.

Fake Bono: Extra large cucumber.

Fake Edge: Enormous zucchini.

Fake Bono: [annoyed sigh] Are we doing this?

Fake Edge: I think I would be...rainbow chard. Because it is highly nutritious yet colorful.

Fake Bono: Yes. You are a veritable superfood, Edge.

Fake Edge: How about you?

Fake Bono: I’d be a radish because radishes are small, spicy, and frankly, they’re completely adorable.

Dear BaE,

Here's a question: which album do you guys consider to be your masterpiece? Unforgettable Fire? Unforgettable Fire or Unforgettable Fire?? I'm going with Unforgettable Fire.

@Michael15702428

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Hi Michael. Well, we are certainly pleased that you’ve enjoyed The Unforgettable Fire all these years. To bring our readers up to speed: We recorded The Unforgettable Fire in 1984, having convinced the great Brian Eno to work with our unschooled, guileless, provincial selves. The album marked our transition from straightforward, guitar-based postpunk to a more experimental™ sound that incorporated strings, synths, meandering melodies, and one famously unfinished lyric. We are quite proud of that album and of the courage it took for us to break out of the predictable four-piece rock band mold. That said, the album is 37 years old.

Fake Bono: The album is 37 years old, Michael! If it were a person, it might have a spouse, a couple of kids, a mortgage, a “hang in there” kitten poster in its cubicle, bouts of insomnia, a tendency to stare hollow-eyed into the empty street at night, troublesome heartburn, an inappropriate attraction to the bike messenger who shows up in the lobby every day at 11 o’clock, an urge to get into its hybrid Honda CR-V and just keep driving and driving—

Fake Edge: Bono.

Fake Bono: I’m sorry. What was the question?

Fake Edge: What album do we consider our “masterpiece.”

Fake Bono: Oh. Pop, obviously.

Fake Edge: I agree. Pop.

Fake Bono: Definitely Pop. Also Achtung Baby, Zooropa, and The Innocence and Experience Song Cycles, as I like to call them. Pretty much everything we’ve done from 1991 to the present. Also the stuff we did before that.

Fake Edge: I too love our early work . Thanks again for your question, Michael.

Dear Fake Bono,

What did you get Fake Edge for his birthday?

@aaronslarson

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Excellent question, Aaron. Surprising this man is difficult but immensely satisfying. Because don’t I nail it every year, my friend?

Fake Edge: Indeed you do, and this year was no exception.

Fake Bono: First, I gave him the gift of my absence. Edge enjoyed a weekend sans the media circus that follows me and therefore him wherever we go. Edge had free reign over the house in Èze, where he and his family and other luminaries indulged in a celebration featuring Kardashian-level pageantry (except the participants possessed actual souls). The man was lavished with love and truly touching gifts. After seeing photos and videos—

Fake Edge: There was a sculpture party, and I danced poolside in a pink wig! We had jumbo lights that looked like planets, and—

Fake Bono: —I became staggeringly envious. Because my 60th birthday...well, it just kind of came and went, now, didn’t it?

Fake Edge: We still owe you and Adam parties worthy of that milestone. And Larry’s is coming up soon! What should we get him?

Fake Bono: I believe I will once again give the gift of my absence.

Fake Edge: No, Larry would want you to attend his party. It’s probably just going to be another low-key, backyard vegan barbeque kind of thing.

Fake Bono: I’m sure he’ll expect us to bring our own lawn chairs again. But back to my second gift, Aaron. I gave Edge...chapter seven of my autobiography.

Fake Edge: I remain stunned.

Fake Bono: Yes, chapter seven contains some 35,000 words devoted solely to my unique relationship with The Edge, including numerous anecdotes that have remained classified for decades.

Fake Edge: with good reason

Fake Bono: Oh? Look, Edge, if anything I wrote makes you uncomfortable, I fully encourage you to whip out your red pen and write notes in the margins.

Fake Edge: I mean, I’m not sure how long this book will be, but…35,000 words is a lot. I’m deeply touched by this loving tribute, but I believe your editor may want to pare it down.

Fake Bono: Editor, shmeditor. And the section about Tenerife stays. Parts one and two.

Fake Edge: I just don’t know, Bono.

Fake Bono: I’m sorry, but I really must put my foot down. Happy birthday, Edge!

Dear BaE,

Do either of you have any compulsions such as needing all bills in your wallet, clothes in your closet or cans in your cupboard to face the same direction?

@Zoe2u

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: [cough]

Fake Bono: No.

Fake Edge: Yes.

Fake Bono: Tell Zoe about your compulsions, Edge.

Fake Edge: I said “yes;” that should cover it.

Fake Bono: So you don’t want Zoe to know about how you sort plectrums—

Fake Edge: Plectra.

Fake Bono: —how you sort plectra not only by color, but also by thickness?

Fake Edge: I guess I would be willing to tell her. If it was something I actually did.

Fake Bono: Okay, okay. How should we close out this edition of DearBaE, then?

Fake Edge: I would like to close it by sharing this review of Pop, published in 2017, and entitled “Defending The Indefensible: A Look Back At U2’s Masterpiece, Pop,” by Ardsley P. Schmedway. Ahem:

U2’s most maligned and misunderstood album, 1997’s Pop, might best be summed up with a line Bono cribbed from William Butler Yeats, “Still looking for the face I had before the world was made.” And did Bono and his companions The Edge, Adam Clayton, and Larry Mullen, Jr. ultimately find what they were looking for? Many would say no, but those many would be mistaken. Pop is—simply stated—U2’s masterpiece. Opening with the strenuous 3am eternal bump-and-grind of Discotheque, the album drops you butt-first into the zeitgeist of the shiny pleatherette surfaces of the late 90’s tech-bubble, then makes you do a sunrise crawl of shame through the fin-de-siècle bomb craters and “feel-good” advertising slogans pricked out in fading neon against a backdrop of—

Fake Bono: Oh my. I’m afraid we’ll have to leave it there until next time.

Fake Edge: It’s our masterpiece though.

Fake Bono: And that’s another column for the bottom of the birdcage, U2 fans—you elegant arrangement of exotic blooms! I know it feels like we’ve been walking through the valley of the shadow for a long time. But as yer men Rodgers and Hammerstein said, “When you walk through a storm, hold your head up high, and don't be afraid of the dark…You’ll never walk alone.” We love you!

Do you have a burning question for Fake Bono and Fake Edge? Follow them on Twitter (@DearBAEatu2) and ask! They are capable of answering questions about U2, questions that are related to U2, and questions that have nothing to do with U2 at all.

Note: Fake Bono and Fake Edge are not real. They are two people pretending to be them. They cannot put you in touch with U2. They cannot help you with your music career, and they have no plans to come to Brazil anytime soon.

Kelly Eddington 5/16/21 Kelly Eddington 5/16/21

Dear BaE Volume 11: Paul

Dear BaE,

How does Fake Bono feel when people call him Paul?

Jimmy

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: I feel ever so slightly miffed, Jimmy. I believe these people mean well. Perhaps they’re trying to imply that they are privy to insider information that might impress me and make me wonder if they knew me B.B.

Fake Edge: Before Bono?

Fake Bono: Yes. And do I wonder if they knew me B.B.? Never. As I announced from the e-stage 76 times in 2018: I’m fucking Bono.

Fake Edge: Readers, please know that he sometimes experiences a physical reaction when people call him Paul.

Fake Bono: sir fucking bono

Fake Edge: He breaks out in hives. Actually, it’s a single, localized hive. He breaks out in hive.

Fake Bono: Can you see it?

Fake Edge: Yes. It’s right there on your neck. You poor thing.

Fake Bono: Say it.

Fake Edge: Readers, the antidote is to say “Bono” 25 times in a variety of soothing tones. Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono Bono.

Fake Bono: Thank you, David Howell Evans.

Dear BaE,

Here's a question - when are you guys gonna bring back Shine Like Stars as a regular snippet for WOWY?? Not just here and there for special shows but all the time. Everybody - and I mean everybody - loves Shine Like Stars.

Michael Hall

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Hi Michael. Firstly, thank you for your appreciation of the ten-second snippet we sometimes add to “With Or Without You.” We like it too, but we have our reasons for reserving it for special occasions. This could be anything from a current event to something in one of our personal lives. Sometimes we play it based on a feeling we get as the venue begins to fill up, which I guess sounds a little nebulous. But there does have to be a reason that we all agree on.

Fake Bono: In truth, I prefer the snippet we append to “One” every now and then: “Hear us coming, Lord.”

Fake Edge: Same. Look, I’ve got goosebumps just thinking about it.

Fake Bono: I’ll sing it to you later.

Fake Edge: Oh, good.

Fake Bono: But back to Michael’s question: We are aware of the popularity of “Shine Like Stars.” Our social media expert, Fergus from Dingle, monitors Facebook and Twitter during every gig and sends us screenshots of the howls of disappointment from folks listening in at home every time we don’t play it. But Michael, have you ever heard the fable about the fox and the wine?

Fake Edge: Do you mean the fox and the grapes?

Fake Bono: This is an updated version. Come closer and I’ll tell you.

Fake Edge: If I come any closer I’ll be in your lap.

Fake Bono: Please, I’m trying to create a warm, storytelling ambiance for our readers. Anyway, there once was a fox who loved red wine and drank it as often as he could. His friends pleaded with him to try a white wine, but the fox thought white wines looked—and frankly tasted—a bit like pee. Waiters would fling their arms up in frustration every time the fox ordered red wine with his fish or poultry. Quel horreur, they cried! Sacre bleu! But it was only red wine for the fox. Every time.

Fake Edge: Is this going somewhere?

Fake Bono: Shush. The point is, the fox got exactly what he wanted, every time. Which was red wine. Until one day he began to itch all over and ended up passing out. He had drunk so much red wine that his little fox body finally rebelled by becoming allergic to it!

Fake Edge: Oh no. Who can this poor fox be, I wonder.

Fake Bono: The identity of the fox is unimportant. What’s important is the moral of the story.

Fake Edge: Which is?

Fake Bono: Right… Something about too much of a good thing? Or how if you always get what you want, you won’t appreciate it anymore?

Fake Edge: Or you’ll need an Epi-Pen. Anyway Michael, I’m sure we’ll play “Shine Like Stars” a few times just as soon as it’s safe for us to tour again. But only when it feels right to us.

Dear BaE,

Explain.

Carina,

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: What? I was being a fly.

Fake Edge: You are in fact a gifted mime.

Fake Bono: Full disclosure, though: my pants were so tight during this video shoot that I was literally climbing the walls. I could barely breathe, let alone move. And yet I delivered a sexuality-defining performance for the ages.

Fake Edge: Way to take one for the team.

Fake Bono: Still. I required assistance to escape from my patent leather prison.

Fake Edge: Was it patent leather? I think we’re looking at black denim here.

Fake Bono: “Patent leather prison” just sounds better, Edge. Let it be.

Dear BaE,

Which kind of chocolate is your favorite? Dark or milk? Do you have a favorite chocolatier? And do you prefer truffles, or caramels, or toffees, or some other delicious confection?

Janice

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: The answer to all of these questions is YES. Next.

Fake Edge: I fully agree, but come on now, B. Janice is one of our top fans. Doesn’t she deserve some of our trademark banter?

Fake Bono: You’re right. She does. Should we answer this in a way that aligns with our established personae?

Fake Edge: Yes. Janice, in the war between dark and milk chocolate, dark chocolate always wins.

Fake Bono: Incorrect. Milk chocolate is sweeter and therefore more indulgent and better.

Fake Edge: Dark chocolate is a powerful source of antioxidants and may lower blood pressure when enjoyed in moderation. Certain bioactive compounds in dark chocolate may even protect your skin from the sun. I could go on and on about the health benefits of dark chocolate, but I sense that someone here is tuning me out.

Fake Bono: DARK CHOCOLATE’S AFTERTASTE IS AKIN TO BILE. ADVANTAGE: MILK. Is that enough banter?

Fake Edge: That should do it. We love you, Janice. Thank you and come again.

Fake Bono: And that’s another column in the wheelie bin, U2 fans—you mad bunch of squabbling siblings in a giant bouncy castle!

But in case you haven’t had enough of us, our esteemed colleague Kelly has drenched us in color and light (that is, she has painted us) as deliriously sexy deities of Summer (moi) and Winter (Edge). Larry and Adam represent Spring and Fall. There’s something for everyone, and you will not be sorry.

Also, yer woman PJ has written a wee poem for me birthday. We both agree that I am a fox.

And as yer man said in John 13:34, love one another. (We love you!) — Fake Bono

Kelly Eddington 2/26/21 Kelly Eddington 2/26/21

Dear BaE Volume 10: Horoscopes

Dear BaE,

I have an urgent need for Fake B & E horoscopes.

@thylacine_queen

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Your wish is our command, Queen! Oh Edge, this could be fun.

Fake Edge: Do you know anything about astrology?

Fake Bono: No. Do you?

Fake Edge: No.

Fake Bono: Seriously, though, how hard could it be? And instead of predictions, maybe we could tailor this to our audience. What are U2 Aries fans like? What are U2 Virgo fans like? Et cetera.

Fake Edge: I’m sure we could find some kind of chart that would help us with descriptions.

Fake Bono: Then instead of ending with lucky numbers, let’s send them on their way with a lyric, what do you think?

Fake Edge: Yes. Let’s call this a special edition, all-horoscopes Dear BaE.

Fake Bono: Let’s do it!

Aries March 21 – April 19

Fake Bono: Aries fans love to bring non-fans along to our shows, so they can prove their expertise by explaining what is about to happen every step of the way—loudly and in loving detail. Aries pays close attention to setlists, yet they are enthusiastic and energetic. Masters of GA dancing, they can sustain constant vertical motion with the grace of a piston coated in a fine synthetic motor oil. Aries fans tend to roll their eyes when we get “political,” but we know that deep down they really do care about ending AIDS and extreme poverty.

Wait for me; I’m running late, always.

Taurus April 20 – May 20

Fake Edge: There’s so much to love about our Taurus fans: they’re gregarious and reliable, and God knows U2 fans have to possess vast reserves of patience, which they have in spades. I’m sure that when Bono gazes out at our audience, he can immediately recognize those who belong to his warm-hearted tribe. And yet. [whispers] I wouldn’t be surprised if some of you were line nazis.

When the soul wants, the soul waits.

Gemini May 21 – June 20

Fake Bono: Gemini, please know that you are brilliant and unpredictable. But I must draw you into a private chat room. Are you here? Great. I’m saying this from a place of love, okay? Look, I need you to know that it is not cool to claim extra space in GA by putting your stuff on the floor. Nor is it acceptable to claim extra space by repeatedly bumping into a stranger until you force them to move away. You have the right to exactly one person-space of room, which may vary, of course, depending on your size. But you are not actually two people, so you may not encroach into another person’s person-space. Thank you.

Don’t worry, baby, it’ll be alright. You got the right shoes to get you through the night.

Cancer June 21 – July 22

Fake Edge: Cancer fans, good for you! You’re imaginative enough to figure out how to be at the front of the line show after show, and we positively bask in the glow of your love for us. But, sweethearts, we don’t take rail attendance. You’re achingly attractive, and we’re flattered by your devotion, but maybe? Sometimes? Give the locals a chance to touch that rail, too.

What you don't have you don't need it now.

Leo July 23 – August 22

Fake Bono: Leos are remarkably attractive, magnetic people who know absolutely everything and who will be sure to tell you. If they don’t have copious hair on their heads, they will probably have a really nice beard. How did Fake Edge get his guitar to sound like a Moroccan nafir on “Lady With the Spinning Head?” Only Fake Edge knows (but so does Leo). Leo fans are usually found standing calmly near the stage, just watching and listening because they know they have nothing to prove. They might surprise you with a dominant (and rather sexy) hand gesture now and then.

The songs are in (y)our eyes, gonna wear them like a crown.

Virgo August 23 – September 22

Fake Edge: The Virgo U2 fan is an obsessed collector and a major source of our income. Do you ever wonder what sign buys the most ultra special editions with thirty pieces of vinyl or whatever? It’s Virgo. Plus they buy at least two of everything, in all available formats and editions. This means that half of their meticulously organized, floor-to-ceiling collections are opened and played, while the other half is kept in mint condition. Virgos are the reason why we have multiple homes.

Got some questions to ask of you in your blue room.

Libra September 23 – October 22

Fake Bono: These fans love to make friends and are quite good at it. They’re fantastic at meet-and-greets—not shy, but not overbearing either. They actually like it when we get “political,” because they have very high ideals and are much concerned with keeping the peace. Their superpower is their ability to drink six beers prior to a show, without having to pee until the show is over. So they will never, ever make you tense by asking you to hold their place.

You can do just what you please, Wild Honey.

Scorpio October 23 – November 21

Fake Edge: Ah, Scorpios. Larry sends his kind regards. Scorpios are the fans whose beaming, singing faces inspire us to tour again and again. Even older fans bring the kind of passion and mania you’d expect from audience members half their age. Bono actively seeks them out in situations when there are maybe too many cameras in the air but not nearly enough screaming. The Scorpios never let him down. However. A couple of years ago on the tree stage, a fan tossed a note up to me. I shared it with the others, and we took it seriously. It said, “Please stop pulling random women up on stage. It’s breaking our hearts. Love, The Scorpios.”

Your love was a light bulb hanging over my bed.

Sagittarius November 22 – December 21

Fake Bono: The Sagittarius fan is a smart, decent sort with a great sense of humor. If they’re into sports, they probably keep scorecards and talk about stats. An American friend told me about Strat-O-Matic Baseball, and he is a Sagittarius. (This might be affecting my judgment of other Sagittarii.) He’s a fun guy to hang around with but can be a little oblivious. If he were to attend one of our shows, he would probably end up standing in front of a shorter person while wearing a large hat—but not maliciously.

It’s not why you’re running, it’s where you’re going. It’s not what you’re dreaming but what you’re gonna do.

Capricorn December 22 – January 19

Fake Edge: If we ever make a mistake, Capricorn fans will let us know about it in a hurry and in no uncertain terms. Careful and disciplined in everything they do, they appear to be the least rock ‘n’ roll of our fans, but they care. Oh, do they care. Dear Capricorns, before you take to social media and denounce this column, we would like to apologize for any astrological inaccuracies you may have encountered. Bono and I are not professional astrologers, and we are clearly making this up as we go along. We have no idea what we’re doing.

You're dangerous ‘cause you're honest.

Aquarius January 20 – February 18

Fake Bono: This is the dawning of the age of Aq—sorry, sorry. Couldn’t help myself. Aquarians are the stealth superheroes of the U2 fandom. They don’t love crowds, so they may not get to lots of shows, but when they do, they behave impeccably and beam pure love at the stage. It is my firm belief that Aquarians create exquisite fan art. Fake Edge, being a more rational type, doesn’t think I can possibly know such a thing. But I just do. Thank you for not watching us through your phone, Aquarius. Thank you for seeing us.

The storms will pass; it won’t be long now.

Pisces February 19 – March 20

Fake Edge: One of the things we as a band are in awe of are the friendships--both temporary and enduring--that have flourished among our fans. A Pisces U2 fan tends to be the kind person in the GA line who will share snacks and drinks with strangers, hold up a phone during the show so someone at home can hear a favorite song, and send photos and videos to the friends they’ve made. Remarkable. Not unlike our beloved Adam.

Nothing to stop this being the best day ever.

Fake Bono: Thus endeth another column, U2 fans—you pocketful of individually-wrapped gummy bears!

As yer man Pádraig Ó Tuama said,

“… life is real
and if you can survive it, well,
survive it well
with love
and art
and meaning given
where meaning’s scarce.”

We love you!

Kelly Eddington 1/19/21 Kelly Eddington 1/19/21

Dear BaE Volume 9: Edgy Memes

Dear BAE,

This question is for Bono. Over the span of U2’s existence, how many times have you been on the receiving end of this look from Edge? (Photo follows.)

Respectfully,

Kevin P.

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Oh my God. What was happening there?

Fake Bono: Knowing our dynamic, you were probably trying to reframe one of my more flighty statements so as to make it palatable for the American TV audience.

Fake Edge: Oh. So that’s how I look when I’m translating from Bongolese to English in real time.

Fake Bono: Sure. Anyway, hello there, Kevin, and thanks for your strange question. Not to get off track, but just as I was mulling over how to reply, my beloved youngest offspring glanced over my shoulder at the screen and cackled. A short time later, I received the following text:

Fake Edge: Oh no. Unacceptable. Attention, youngest-spawn-of-Fake-B: this is Not Cool.

Fake Bono: Indeed. This is some ageist malarkey from my youngest, tallest progeny. And his Photoshop skills leave much to be desired.

Fake Edge: Yeah. You can see where he tried to kind of paint in the background.

Fake Bono: When I asked him, he said that this is a “meme” and that it is “edgy.” I said, of course it’s edgy; it’s got Edge in it. Haha.

Fake Edge: Oh Bono, no…

Fake Bono: The youngest issue of my loins then urged me to tell our readers that we have an “edgy meme,” because it would enhance our relevance amongst the young people.

Fake Edge: Oh, that is probably not a good idea.

Fake Bono: But he must have had second thoughts, because a few minutes later he crept back into my office, leaned down from his towering height, and admitted that no one actually says “edgy memes” anymore and that under no circumstances was I to utter the phrase, type the phrase, or even think the phrase in the presence of a clairvoyant.

Fake Edge: Dodged a bullet there, B.

Fake Bono: All of my children are brilliant and kind-hearted.

Fake Edge: I agree. Check your texts now, by the way.

Fake Bono: Okay… Oh, look what you did.

Fake Edge: Current Bono is always the best Bono. It’s just a fact.

Fake Bono: Young Me has turned quite pale with envy!

Dear BaE,

Care to comment on the fan-encounter stories found elsewhere on this site? Bono, do you recall stealing toast in Atlanta, and Edge, can you still tie a knot in a cherry stem with your tongue?

Kylle Dednoting

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Hello Kylle, if that is indeed your real name. Did I steal toast in Atlanta? First, let’s define stealing. Is it stealing if you simply take something that has been abandoned and its ultimate destination is the trash? That’s not stealing. That’s merely preventing waste, and I for one am scandalized by the amount of food waste that goes on in the Western world. So if by “steal” you mean “rescuing perfectly good and valuable food from the bin,” then yes, Kylle, I stole that toast, and I’d bloody well do it again!

Fake Edge: You okay?

Fake Bono: ...Yes. I’m fine. Sorry. Didn’t mean to get huffy. It’s just...I haven’t been on a proper stage in so long. I miss being able to alert our audience to important issues.

Fake Edge: There, there. I can talk about cherry stems, if you like.

Fake Bono: Oh, you absolutely must! I remember that stunt vividly.

Fake Edge: You do?

Fake Bono: Viv. Id. Ly. Can you still do it?

Fake Edge: It’s been a while, but I’d imagine it’s like riding a bike. If I had a cherry stem handy right now, I might be a little rusty, but I’m sure I’d be able to do it.

Fake Bono: I’ve tried, but I can never quite make that end go back through the loop. What’s your secret?

Fake Edge: Magicians never reveal their secrets.

Fake Bono: You’re not a magician; you’re a sorceror.

Fake Edge: Well, it’s not especially remarkable. Just years of practice.

Fake Bono: You don’t say?

Fake Edge: Along with the ability to mentally disable the pharyngeal reflex for short periods of time.

Dear BaE,

I need to know what your sneeze styles are for scientific, not weird, reasons. Thank you.

Carina B.

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Huh. Kind of hard to believe that for all the thousands of photos people have taken of U2, and for all the miles of film footage devoted to us, no one has captured us sneezing.

Fake Bono: Well, maybe they have, but our friend Carina has missed it. I certainly don’t remember seeing us sneezing on film or in photos. Or hearing! We’ve not included any sneezes in our music.

Fake Edge: …yet.

Fake Bono: ...Edge? Hello?

Fake Edge: Oh my god. YET.

Fake Bono: Uh-oh. Carina, I wish you could see this man when inspiration strikes. His face becomes even more otherworldly, and his body positively crackles with electricity. Edge, let me see your arms.

Fake Edge: YET!

Fake Bono: Just as I suspected. Every hair on those furry and talented forearms is standing at attention.

Fake Edge: Sneezing! This changes everything! Are we almost done here, B? Because—

Fake Bono: You’re dismissed. And Carina, for the record, Edge sneezes with gusto. It becomes a shuddering, entire-body event that often incorporates a brief scream. He seems to enjoy sneezing a great deal. And this may surprise you, but my sneeze is rather dainty. My throat, nose, lungs, and vocal cords are worth millions, possibly billions, and I’ve trained myself to protect my instrument.

[ah-choo!]

And that’s another column for the history books, U2 fans—you lovely basket of frolicsome pups! Nothing from the Sams* this time, just a few words from our countryman, the poet Seamus Heaney:

Believe that a farther shore

Is reachable from here.

Believe in miracles

And cures and healing wells.

Don’t be afraid. We love you!

*Bongolese for “Psalm”

Kelly Eddington 12/8/20 Kelly Eddington 12/8/20

Dear BaE Volume 8: Sunscreen

Dear BaE,

Did you realize that cartoon versions of yourselves made a brief appearance on the Netflix gross-out cartoon Big Mouth (season 4, episode 1)? Kelly spotted you, and PJ took screen shots for your amusement. The scene in question puts you in a public swimming pool, and lifeguard Coach Steve is yelling at a couple of kids, "I don't want to hear you two cursing in the pool...unless, of course, you're U2 cursing." Bono curses mildly while applying sunscreen dispensed by Edge. Reactions?

Love,

The Management

Kelly and PJ

Fort Lee, NJ

PS Did you like the pineapple on that pizza, Bono?

Fake Bono: Merciful heavens.

Fake Edge: It’s not much of a joke...I feel like at least one of the writers must be a U2 fan, and they used any excuse to draw us and put us in the scene. If so, I’m touched.

Fake Bono: My children tell me that Big Mouth is an inclusive, popular, and often disgusting show about puberty. This kind of appearance can only increase our relevance, Edge.

Fake Edge: Should we point out the inaccuracies first?

Fake Bono: Of course. First, they have no understanding of your nose. It’s perfectly elegant, and it does not dominate your face like that. Someone should write a manifesto about it. Second, your eyes are green, not blue.

Fake Edge: People tend to make me look like Serj Tankian from System of a Down. And he’s an attractive man, but--

Fake Bono: He’s nowhere near as attractive as you.

Fake Edge: Cartoon You is actually better than most, but they gave you a Tony Stark-like beard.

Fake Bono: Yes. It’s overly dark and manicured. I haven’t worn sunglasses like that in six or seven years. Our mouths are too big, but I suppose they have to be since that’s the title of the show.

Fake Edge: On to the positives. I’m blown away by the chest hair accuracy.

Fake Bono: Yes, well done. That artist spent much time in careful study. Your cheekbones are magnificent, and your eyes express the right amount of tender melancholy typically seen on the faces of geniuses.

Fake Edge: Your little belly has not been ignored.

Fake Bono: Fine.

Fake Edge: And bravo to the artist for resurrecting my Discotheque vest. I really should look into wearing vests again.

Fake Bono: I would like to clarify that you are not my personal sunscreen valet. I don’t pay you to provide my skin with sun protection.

Fake Edge: I do it free of charge.

Fake Bono: Finally, to answer your pineapple-on-pizza question, dear Management, it’s not bad.

Fake Edge: YES.

Fake Bono: But it’s not good, either. It occupies a mysterious gray area.

And that’s all we have time for today, U2 fans, you adorable children curled up on the couch and watching your horrifying cartoons! As King Solomon once sang (Song of Solomon 7:8), “May your breasts be like clusters of grapes, and the fragrance of your breath like apricots.” We love you!

Do you have a burning question for Fake Bono and Fake Edge? Follow them on Twitter (DearBAEatu2) and ask! They are capable of answering questions about U2, questions related to U2 and questions that have nothing to do with U2 at all.

Kelly Eddington 11/23/20 Kelly Eddington 11/23/20

Dear BaE Volume 7: Pineapple

Welcome to our little advice column! You really can ask us (almost) anything, but please note: Dear BaE is written by two people who wish to remain anonymous, for entertainment purposes only. Neither Bono nor Edge are involved in any way except as they exist in their tiny little brains. No Bonos or Edges were harmed during the creation of this column. Enjoy!

Dear BaE,

What would you say is your heaviest, most rock and roll song you have released?

Eric (@snowpen on Twitter)

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: I’m gonna make this really easy. It’s “The Fly.” Next question.

Fake Bono: Now wait a minute. Surely we have other songs we could at least discuss.

Fake Edge: All right. Give me your top ten, and I’ll tell you why they don’t rock as hard as “The Fly.” And I’m prepared to be brutal about this, so proceed with caution, B. No hurt feelings?

Fake Bono: No hurt feelings. Okay. “Bullet The Blue Sky.”

Fake Edge: Too slow. Audiences just stand there kind of grooving.

Fake Bono: Sexily grooving.

Fake Edge: Fine, but still slow.

Fake Bono: “Acrobat.”

Fake Edge: I can’t allow a bloody waltz to be our heaviest song.

Fake Bono: “Sunday Bloody Sunday.”

Fake Edge: I feel like I’m abandoning one of my own children when I say this, but no. Too...I don’t know...too march-y.

Fake Bono: “The Electric Co.” Come on.

Fake Edge: You turned it into your own Broadway showcase. “Send In The Clowns”? Stephen Sondheim? No.

Fake Bono: “Vertigo,” “Mofo,” “Breathe”?

Fake Edge: I’m always slightly embarrassed when I play my little chuck-a sounds during the verses; comes to a complete standstill at the bridge; contains an actual cello.

Fake Bono: “The Miracle (Of Joey Ramone)”? “The Blackout”?

Fake Edge: Are you telling me you think either of those even comes close to rocking harder than “The Fly”?

Fake Bono: It’s “The Fly,” then. It’s always been “The Fly.”

Fake Edge: The others never stood a chance.

Dear BaE,

Lately I've noticed actual hip young people with mullets that appear to be only semi-ironic. This week Bono was named People magazine's sexiest man at age 60. Do you think this indicative of a cultural shift? Is U2 becoming...cool?

Samantha

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: First, I agree with People’s assessment.

Fake Bono: Aw, thank you, The Edge. I’ve already nominated you for next year.

Fake Edge: And second, the mullet renaissance is definitely happening. If you ever wanted to revisit that look, the time is now.

Fake Bono: Not on your life! I continue my staunch belief that a man should never look as if his hair has been ironed.

Fake Edge: Bono…when, in the last 20 years, has your hair not had at least a nodding acquaintance with looking ironed?

Fake Bono: How dare you.

Fake Edge: Third, I think we owe a debt of gratitude to those YouTube kids who are discovering and reacting to our music. IF we’re marginally cool again, I think they’re the main reason why.

Fake Bono: I’ve seen those kids. I adore those kids!

Fake Edge: Watch her fall in love with you at 1:58. Then: “I ain’t gonna lie: he was fine. He was FINE-fine.”

Fake Bono: Was?

Fake Edge: Is.

Dear BaE,

Photo evidence suggests real B&E are both pizza enthusiasts. Is pineapple as a pizza topping an inspired salty-sweet sensation or a culinary atrocity?

Zoe (@Zoe2u2 on Twitter)

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Atrocity!

Fake Edge: Sensation!

Fake Bono: Atrocity! And I’ll tell you why.

Fake Edge: Here we go...

Fake Bono: Pizza…is like a beautiful woman. Come una bella donna. A beautiful woman does not need elaborate clothing or accessories. If anything, these bits and bobs and trinkets detract from her beauty. I mean, the best part of any BBC costume drama is the moment the heroine takes off her powdered wig and her crinoline and her petticoats and her corset and—

Fake Edge: Bono.

Fake Bono: —and that is why a truly good pizza features only the most traditional Italian ingredients: a good thin crust, real mozzarella, fresh basil, and of course a thick, rich, toothsome tomato sauce.

Fake Edge: “Traditional Italian ingredients,” you say?

Fake Bono: Si, Signor Il Edge.

Fake Edge: Come with me to the kitchen.

Fake Bono: This is highly unorthodox, but I’ll allow it. (Readers, we’re in Edge’s California home, by the way.)

Fake Edge: (Fake celebrities can indulge in unlimited travel opportunities during pandemics.) What if I told you that the tomato has its origins in Central and South America and was only brought to Europe by Spanish conquistadors in the fifteenth century?

Fake Bono: Here we go...[sits at the kitchen counter and begins drawing on an envelope].

Fake Edge: While putting pineapple on pizza did not originate in California, it certainly is popular here. The fruit is South American, along with tomatoes, corn, and any number of important Italian ingredients. California is closer to Central and South America than New York and especially Italy are.

Fake Bono: (Maybe I should just make them dots...yes, that works. Perfect.)

Fake Edge: So in geographic terms, I think the argument could be made that pizza with pineapple is more authentic than regular New York pizza. [Retrieves an assemble-your-own-pizza kit from the refrigerator, where many others can be seen, and gets to work.]

Fake Bono: I suppose you could make any argument you like no matter how lame. (Heh, his hands are so dainty.) That was a semi-impressive presentation, but unfortunately for you, location and authenticity have nothing to do with flavor.

Fake Edge: Have you ever actually tried pineapple on pizza, B?

Fake Bono: No. Because it is an atrocity.

Fake Edge: Look, I’m making this pizza your way, but I’m going to put pineapple on my side, and in the interest of science, I’ll place one little tiny piece of pineapple on your side, and you will try it [cuts into a pineapple and gives Fake Bono a bit].

Fake Bono: I’ve eaten pineapple before, Edge, and yes, it is delicious.

Fake Edge: Well, don’t eat too much of it because raw pineapple contains an enzyme that eats and digests the skin inside your mouth and can cause a stinging sensation.

Fake Bono: Enzyme? Atrocity!

Fake Edge: The enzyme cooks off after the pineapple caramelizes a bit, so don’t worry.

Fake Bono: [returns to drawing] (Weirdo. Doesn’t even know how to fold pizza.)

Fake Edge: [studies the tiny piece of pineapple that will go on Bono’s side] Also it’s a beautiful yellow accent that just looks pretty on top, wouldn’t you say? It reminds me of your hair five years ago.

Fake Bono: During the early days of the i+e tour? Yes, it was indeed that pale shade of yellow.

Fake Edge: It positively glowed under the lights. I loved being able to look out and see your head shining like a yellow beacon at the other end of the arena.

Fake Bono: My hair caramelized a bit over the course of the tour.

Fake Edge: It was truly beautiful. I don’t care what anyone says.

Fake Bono: That was an incredible tour. So groundbreaking.

Fake Edge: God, I miss being on the road.

Fake Bono: Me, too.

Fake Edge: Let’s eat some pizza and write some songs.

Fake Bono: Yes.

Fake Edge: Fun drawings, by the way.

Fake Bono: Thanks! …Oh no.

Fake Edge: What?

Fake Bono: This is terrible. That first letter. We forgot all about “Until the End of the World.” It rocks, Edge. It rocks so damned hard.

Fake Edge: Oh. Of course. But you know, that song is kind of a loaded topic for us, considering the live performances, with the—

Fake Bono: Taunting, stalking, kissing, forehead-wrestling, and you sort of attacking me with your guitar while I beg you to stop?

Fake Edge: Yeah. That. Dammit.

Fake Bono: Aaaand that’s another column in the bin, U2 fans—you beribboned box of chocolates! I’m afraid we’re leaving you on a bit of a cliffhanger: will I eat the tiny piece of pineapple? Will I like it, or will I hate it? Tune in next time to find out!

We are so thrilled to be here with you in our new home.

I’m going to step out of my comfort zone today and borrow a little blessing from the Unitarians: “May beauty reign here, and lovely objects renew us by their silence and perfection. I wish for you, in this sheltered place, the freedom, calm, and leisure to play and explore.” We love you.

Kelly Eddington 9/4/20 Kelly Eddington 9/4/20

DearBaE Volume 6: Buttery

Masks, Buttery Voices, And A Visit From Fake Larry

Dear BaE,

Last month I saw photos of the two of you on vacation in Italy and Greece, and you weren’t wearing face masks in some of them, even in group shots with strangers. Care to explain?

Audrey, who is concerned about you.

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: You pose an excellent question, Audrey.

Fake Edge: She really does. This situation has thrown us into an existential crisis of sorts.

Fake Bono: And if I may, I’d like to break the—would you say it’s the fourth wall?

Fake Edge: When an actor on stage addresses the audience, that person is breaking the imaginary fourth wall, so...

Fake Bono: But I want to address the real us. That seems more like the ceiling. Yes. Let’s break the ceiling, Fake The Edge.

Fake Edge: Let’s do it. [looks up] Attention, Real Edge!

Fake Bono: [looks up] Achtung, Real Bono! Fake Edge and myself need the two of you to take your health seriously, and that includes wearing masks while you’re in public, and especially when you’re interacting with people you’ve just met. I mean…[shakes head].

Fake Edge: If—and perish the thought—IF one or both of you ceased to exist—

Fake Bono: What would happen to us? Would we disappear? Would we join you in The Beyond?

Fake Edge: Who can say?

Fake Bono: I don’t wanna disappear simply because you can’t be arsed to wear a mask, Real Me. What would Fake Edge do without me?

Fake Edge: Real Bono, I would like to present the following gif as Exhibit A.

Fake Bono: Wow. Whatever happened to that jacket? It’s cool.

Fake Edge: That is Real You spraying the word “so.” It’s a good example of how far a person’s breath can travel when they have lungs as mighty as your own. This is the way diseases are spread. Frankly, someone like you requires a mask with multiple filters and reinforcements.

Fake Bono: You don’t have to convince me. [addresses ceiling again] One of the reasons why you’re the most lovable men in rock is because you can’t say no to your fans. We realize you’re just being nice, but wear a damn mask, Real Us.

Dear BaE,

Hi guys. I love U2 X-Radio. Do you think you can get Larry to do a show? He can play old Irish drinking songs.

Lady78,

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Oh dear Lady, you’ve presented us with a challenge.

Fake Edge: Indeed. You see, Larry loves to play gigs and—well, let’s just say he’s willing to tolerate the recording process. But he’s not that into all of these ancillary things we do.

Fake Bono: Ancillary things?

Fake Edge: Side projects.

Fake Bono: Oh, right. Yeah, I was afraid we’d lost him entirely after Spider-Man: Turn Off The Dark. But it’s true—Larry is a private man and a bit of a cipher. He likes to observe the world from the shadowy places. One might even say he moves in mysterious ways.

Fake Edge: Fortunately, we know where to find him.

Fake Bono: Those bleep-bloops you hear are the sounds of Edge contacting Larry on ZoomTV.

Fake Edge: It’s just Zoom, Bono. Not ZoomTV.

Fake Bono: Boring.

Fake Edge: Here he is. Oh come on, Larry. Turn on your video.

Fake Larry: No.

Fake Bono: Come on, Larry. Give us a glimpse of that preternaturally youthful face.

Fake Larry: [grumbling] Fine. I just want you two to know that you’ve interrupted me dinner.

Fake Bono: Sorry. What are you having?

Fake Larry: Black Truffle Strangozzi.

Fake Edge: Oh, pasta with mushrooms.

Fake Larry: Yeah. So what’s going on? This better be important.

Fake Edge: We’ve got a request from a fan. She was hoping you would play some old Irish drinking songs on U2 X-Radio.

Fake Larry: No.

Fake Bono: Do it, Larry. You know you want to. Give us a little “Whiskey In The Jar.”

Fake Edge: You have to do “The Irish Rover.”

Fake Bono: “Farewell To My Lassie From Ballymagiggle.”

Fake Edge: “The Bonnie Red Road to Old Mollyshannons.”

Fake Bono: “When I Left Me Wee Pint On The Roof O’ Me Beemer.”

Fake Larry: Are you finished?

Fake Bono: Mostly.

Fake Larry: Am I to be singing or just playing records?

Fake Edge: I believe some of the fans would love to hear you sing.

Fake Larry: [grumbling]

Fake Bono: Does this mean you’re considering it? Oh, we’re getting that “unstable internet connection” message. Edge, fix it.

Fake Edge: Sadly, I think Larry has returned to his strangozzi.

Fake Bono: Can we do the Irish drinking songs then?

Fake Edge: No.

Dearest Fake Bono,

Please continue to read lyrics as the poetry they are. Your voice is like butter.

--A group of Fort Lee residents (via Twitter)

Fake Edge: Our friends are referring to the Van Morrison tribute that was on U2 X-Radio a few weeks ago. Adam and I introduced some of our favorite tunes and provided respectful, low-key anecdotes. You, on the other hand, decided to get creative.

Fake Bono: I was merely reinventing rap whilst requesting a moondance.

Fake Edge: I should mention to our friends that earlier this summer Bono asked me to come up with about ten minutes of--how did you describe it, exactly?

Fake Bono: “Cool jazz meanderings.” You had nothing better to do.

Fake Edge: Fair enough, and I must admit I enjoyed taking on this challenge. I delivered a few ideas and returned to my garden and my little boat.

Fake Bono: I got right to work recording myself reciting lyrics from several Van Morrison classics. Then I placed your meanderings over them. And voila, our tribute went from pedestrian to...well, suffice it to say that listeners are skipping over certain parts of the program but replaying my bits again and again.

Fake Edge: I’ve got to hand it to you, B. Your recitations of those lyrics were nothing short of revelatory.

Fake Bono: We received one complaint, though.

Fake Edge: Is the FCC on your case again?

Fake Bono: No, thank f---. The person who complained was one Van Morrison, who should wear a damn mask, by the way. He was enraged that I had made a song about sex actually sound sexy and not like the ravings of a crotchety old man.

Fake Edge: Wanna know a secret? I used to take on a Van Morrison voice when I read the story of Rumplestiltskin to my children, along with that troll under the bridge in the Three Billy Goats Gruff. (This will be edited out of our column, right?)

Fake Bono: (Yes.) And you know how the refrain of “Moondance” is “Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love?”

Fake Edge: Sure.

Fake Bono: It’s not “can I.” It should be “may I.” At the end of the song I always like to say, “I dunno, Van. Can you?”

Fake Edge: You do have impeccable manners.

Fake Bono: I was gritting my teeth every time I had to recite it.

Fake Edge: And yet you still managed to bring the butter.

Fake Bono: I mean, voice work is an avenue I’m definitely considering for future income, especially now that live music is not an option.

Fake Edge: Oh, I think you’ll be just fine.

Fake Bono: I have mouths to feed, Edge! They’re currently eating me out of house and home.

Fake Edge: Then come on over. I’ve got a literal boatload of tomatoes, and I don’t know what I’m going to do with them.

Fake Bono: Great! Wait a second, are the tomatoes actually in the boat?

Fake Edge: No. But they could be.

Fake Bono: And that’s another column wrapped up, U2 fans, you fabulous germ-free adolescents! Please check out our YouTube channel, where each week we will be doling out an improved, HD version of one of our videos, starting with “Stuck In A Moment You Can’t Get Out Of.” Yes, the veil of standard-definition haze has been lifted from that one at last, and you may be shocked to learn that I have blue eyes, for example. To paraphrase yer man Jeremiah (33:3), “Tweet unto us, and watch our HD videos, and we will answer thee and show thee great and mighty things!” We love you.

Kelly Eddington 8/8/20 Kelly Eddington 8/8/20

DearBaE Volume 5: Birthdays

Missed Texts, Men Of Wealth & Taste, Birthdays Galore

Welcome to our little advice column! You really can ask us (almost) anything, but please note: Dear BaE is written by two people who wish to remain anonymous. Neither Bono nor Edge are involved in any way, except as they exist in their tiny little brains. No Bonos or Edges were harmed during the creation of this column. Enjoy!

Dear BaE,

I’ve been enjoying U2 X-Radio. I leave it on all day, even if it means that I hear “Numb” once an hour. Naturally I texted the “community” number so I could receive messages from the band! Everything was great until Sunday, August 2, when Edge sent out a text that I did not receive. No big deal, but I live in rural Alaska and don’t see many people. I also have a long history of romantic rejection. U2 has been the most reliable thing in my life. I want to feel like I can count on you guys, you know? Help a sad bro out here.

Herb S.,

Fort Lee, Alaska

Fake Bono: I’m gonna let you handle this one.

Fake Edge: Greetings, Herb. First, let me—

Fake Bono: I told you this would cause problems, didn’t I?

Fake Edge: Bono, hold on. Herb, allow me to apologize—

Fake Bono: I told him, Herb. I told him this phone number thing was unsustainable. I knew something would go wrong. Every time we try to do something nice for the fans, it ends up with people feeling hurt. I knew it. I said—

Fake Edge: Let me at least apologize to Herb!

Fake Bono: Fine!

Fake Edge: Fine? You’re done now?

Fake Bono: Yes!

Fake Edge: Then quit pouting… Anyway, Herb, I am terribly, terribly sorry that you didn’t receive my most recent text. I apologize from the bottom of my heart. Please be assured that we did not wish to offend anyone or cause anyone to feel left out. You see, all of our electronic communications are handled by a young man named Fergus, who operates from an undisclosed location on the Dingle Peninsula. Even we don’t know exactly where he is. We are considering having him relocate, because the weather down there can be a bit rough, and if the power goes out, the poor wee fella has to run down to the pub and use their 28.8 kbps dial-up modem.

Fake Bono: Herb, I am exasperated right now. You know, as a band, U2 always want to be on the very bleeding edge—

Fake Edge: What an awful figure of speech.

Fake Bono: —on the very bleeding edge of technology. But sometimes we just blow it. So to make it up to you, we’re sending you a little gift—all of our early concert films, from Under A Blood Red Sky through U2 Go Home, on VHS videotape.

Fake Edge: No no, we’re not doing that, Bono.

Fake Bono: Oh, come on!

Fake Edge: No one has a VCR anymore. He won’t be able to watch them. Herb, please check your messages. I think you’ll like what you see. And once again, I apologize deeply and abjectly for Fergus’ colossal error.

Dear BaE,

When was the last time either of you mowed your own lawn? Bono: probably never. Edge: maybe 10 years ago. I can see Larry still cutting his own grass, and Adam probably pays some guy to do it and then hangs out with him the whole time.

@Michael15702428

Fort Lee, New Jersey

When was the last time you carried your own luggage?

Love, the Tarts

@the_gardentarts

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Edge: It seems these people have noticed that we have some money and property.

Fake Bono: Indeed they have! Now listen, Michael15702428, which would you like us to do more, write and record music for you, or mow our lawns?

Fake Edge: [fist-bump with Fake Bono] Mic-drop responses, both.

Fake Bono: For the record, I would never do that.

Fake Edge: Mow?

Fake Bono: Drop my mic. That’s my instrument, and I do not condone microphone abuse. Wait a minute, who asked the second question? “The Garden Tarts,” hm? This appellation intrigues me.

Fake Edge: Of course it does.

Fake Bono: Okay then, The Tarts, I will briefly address your cheeky luggage question: Be honest. If you were me, would you carry your own luggage? No, you would obviously save your strength for more rousing, stimulating activities.

Fake Edge: Bono…

Fake Bono: Now listen up, Edge, because the next question concerns you.

Fake Edge: [frees tops of ears from beanie] I’m all ears.

Dear Fake The Edge,

Happiest of birthdays to my favorite guitarist and the resident genius of U2! Where would U2 be without your artistry, dedication and innovation? I shudder to think. Your guitar stylings have received much acclaim over the years, but I believe that you remain the most underrated yet influential guitarist of your generation. Your voice is the band’s secret weapon. The high notes that Bono is unable to reach? You handle them with grace and ease while playing not one but sometimes two instruments simultaneously…

Fake Bono: It goes on like this for quite a while, and then there is a lengthy poem. Plus a digital illustration one assumes was created on an iPad.

Fake Edge: Wait. This message is from you, isn’t it?

Fake Bono: It’s merely one of many birthday wishes from your adoring fans, but yes. Happy birthday, The Edge, and many happy returns on the day.

Fake Edge: Thanks, but I feel a bit sheepish. You’re making such a big deal about it, but 59 is not the impressive round number that 60 is. If I recall correctly, we neglected to even—

Fake Bono: ACKNOWLEDGE MY MAJOR BIRTHDAY IN THIS COLUMN THREE MONTHS AGO? No, Edge, we most certainly did not acknowledge it!

Fake Edge: To be fair, we were on different continents during the beginning months of a frightening pandemic, and DearBaE was in its infancy. I think we were only one column in...? People barely even understood what we are trying to do here...?

Fake Bono: They were supposed to be asking us for advice, I think, but apparently they’d rather imagine me seated atop a riding mower, wearing a John Deere cap. Still, you’re right. Things were scary at the time, and it would have been gauche to be overly celebratory.

Fake Edge: Well, it may seem a little gauche even now, but we certainly won’t defeat the monster by becoming the monster.

Fake Bono: What smart person said that?

Fake Edge: Oh, just a guy I know with the biggest, warmest voice in rock ‘n’ roll. A man generous in both wealth and spirit who sees everyone in the world as his equal and as his friend. A man who should really have his own sitcom—because he can turn the world on with his smile. A man who never just goes through the motions of singing his honest, emotionally intelligent songs, but who lives them, night after night, in front of thousands of people, all of whom understand he is singing directly to them. Readers of AtU2, you know who I’m talking about. So please help me wish my very best friend, Bono, the happiest of all belated birthdays.

Fake Bono: Oh. My goodness. Well. I’m lost for words.

Fake Edge: You readers might want to take a screenshot of that, because it probably won’t happen again. Anyway, B., we can include your belated birthday when we celebrate mine, with our immediate quarantine families gathered around us. And we can celebrate again two days later, when you officially turn 60-and-one-quarter.

Fake Bono: I guess that would work.

Fake Edge: We can do your half- and three-quarters-birthdays as well, if that helps.

Fake Bono: [mumbles] When I forgot Ali’s birthday that one time, I wrote her a hit song. No big deal.

Fake Edge: You actually wrote her a B-side that did not, in fact, become a hit until we re-recorded it nine years later.

Fake Bono: Thank you for that, Edge. You are helpful as always.

Fake Edge: You’re welcome!

Fake Bono: And that’s another column wrapped up, U2 fans, you beautiful bunch of ripe bananas! To paraphrase Sam* 126—which happens to be a Song of Ascent!—we may sow in tears, but we will soon reap shouts of joy. We love you!

*Bongolese for “Psalm”