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 7/10/20 Kelly Eddington 7/10/20

DearBaE Volume 4: Tripping

Tripping, Squicking, and Billions Of Views

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 Fake The Edge,

When do you plan on trying to find out the secret of the universe again? [Three laughter emojis follow.]

—Kristina,

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Oh my goodness, Kristina.

Fake Bono: Your goodness has nothing to do with this, The Edge.

Fake Edge: Well, it does a little bit. You see, Kristina is referring to my one, singular, solitary experience with a hallucinogenic drug, which of course happened back in the 90s.

Fake Bono: Yes, there was only just that one experience in the 90s. Edge would never have done anything like that in any other decade. The 90s were a nonstop carnival of excess. Imagine Fellini’s Satyricon starring the cast of The Benny Hill Show. We were absolute madmen for precisely ten years—no more, no less.

Fake Edge: Yes. Sadly, it’s all true. But I’m a grandpa now, albeit a very young and sprightly one, so I would prefer not to discuss controlled substances, or accidentally encourage the use of controlled substances, or even mention a mushroom pizza in passing. On the other hand, if I didn’t tell the story about the one time I almost discovered the secret of the universe, I would never be free of the myth that I am a complete goody-two-shoes. I mean, rock ’n’ roll guitarists can’t be angels. We have to have at least a little bit of…

Fake Bono: …edge?

Fake Edge: Yes?

Fake Bono: Never mind. But Edge is right, Kristina. He’s always been pure as the driven snow, hasn’t he? He looks like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Fake Edge: What a strange expression that is.

Fake Bono: Nevertheless, it’s true. Larry may have looked like a cute punk kid, but you always looked like a little marble angel.

Fake Edge: You used to say “alabaster.”

Fake Bono: I changed my mind. It’s marble. From Carrara, obviously.

Fake Edge: Thanks, mate. Anyway, here’s a quick recap of the Secrets of the Universe story: It was the 90s. A guy gave me some magic mushrooms. I ate them. Nothing really happened. So I ate some more. Bad idea! But ultimately, after much crawling on all fours and becoming lost in the patterns of the carpet, I discovered the secret of the universe* and mumbled it into a handheld recording device. Woke up the next day like, “Hey you guys, I think I discovered the secret of the universe!” But alas, I could not remember the secret. And it turned out I had been holding the recorder upside-down, so when I played it back, all I heard was something like, “cranberry sauce.”

Fake Bono: And that, dear Kristina, is what we call an anti-climax.

Fake Edge: Must there always be a climax?

Fake Bono: In the literary sense? Probably. But to actually address Kristina’s question, are you ever gonna try to find the secret of the universe again, The Edge?

Fake Edge: If the secret of the universe can be found in a glass of sauvignon blanc from Pessac-Léognan, I’m down. But for now, I’ll continue the important work of compressing myself down to a soundwave. Have you seen my screwdriver?

Dear BaE,

Like most people, my husband and I are watching more TV and movies than usual during quarantine. I am a sensitive viewer. Certain scenes (anything involving the electric chair, for example) require me to cover my eyes or leave the room so I won’t have nightmares about them later. What subject matter, if any, do you find unbearable?

—Rose,

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Oh, sweet Rose, you empathetic soul. Call me old-fashioned, but the amount of violence on television these days is staggering. My children and wife mock me for this, but I must leave the room at the slightest hint of torture, human rights violations, medieval executions and so on.

Fake Edge: Can confirm. Years ago, you stormed out of Misery. Remember that? You required aftercare in the form of Macallan M whiskey.

Fake Bono: She was going to smash his ankles with a giant hammer and then burn them…? How can anyone be expected to endure that kind of savagery?

Fake Edge: I wanted to see the end of the movie, but fine.

Fake Bono: All right, mister. What disturbs you?

Fake Edge: Let’s see. Cruelty to animals and children.

Fake Bono: Yes. Unacceptable.

Fake Edge: Second-hand embarrassment. Gratuitous vomiting.

Fake Bono: I’ve had it with both of those, too.

Fake Edge: I also have real problems with math geniuses who work as janitors at MIT, guys with amnesia pursued by assassins, underachievers who go to dangerous extremes to make the lifestyles of wealthy glamour boys their own, botanists who are stranded on Mars for over a year—

Fake Bono: Now, wait a minute.

Fake Edge: Do you miss him?

Fake Bono: Your low-key hostility drove Matt Damon away. I know it.

Fake Edge: I apologize. I’m happy to be back in Dublin.

Fake Bono: You’re where you belong, Edge.

Fake Edge: You’re right. I always feel a sense of imbalance when the four of us are scattered about the globe.

Fake Bono: Life finally makes sense again.

Fake Edge: Sort of, anyway.

Fake Bono: Oh! I thought of another thing that makes me have to leave the room: whenever my daughter is in a movie or TV show, and she’s involved in a love scene beyond, let’s say, a PG. And now I’m afraid I’ll be leaving the room a lot every Sunday night at 9:00, when my gifted daughter Eve Hewson stars as Anna Wetherell in The Luminairies on BBC One.

Fake Edge: Now that you mention it, I find it hard to watch Eve in scenes like that, too.

Fake Bono: It’s because she’s like a niece or a sort of daughter to you.

Fake Edge: Well, there’s that, but let’s face facts, Bono. More than the rest of your children, Eve is your clone.

Fake Bono: The resemblance is indeed striking.

Fake Edge: Eve’s an excellent actress, and we’re all so proud of her, but I don’t think you quite get it. Put yourself in my shoes. I’m watching a younger version of you—you in 1987 for example—except you’re a woman, and you’re a prostitute, and you’re having sex on some New Zealand beach. That’s some intense visual information for me to digest. It’s creepy.

Fake Bono: Is that what it is, Edge?

Fake Edge: That’s the word I’m going with.

Fake Bono: Fair enough. Well. Here’s my tip, Rose. Except for my daughter’s show, television is clearly a trash fire, so you should join us on the radio . Perhaps you’ve heard of it? No violence, embarrassment, vomiting or sex...unless you want to count my voice.

Fake Edge: You love trotting out that heady, late-night deejay voice of yours, don’t you?

Fake Bono: Oh, Edge. I am living my best life.

Dear BaE,

I think this would make an excellent topic of discussion for you two: #OneToABillion.

—Valerie @U2Partygirl5 on Twitter,

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: …And?

Fake Bono: Your voice is exquisite and mollifying, Edge.

Fake Edge: Thank you.

Fake Bono: Okay, Valerie, this seems like something we could get behind. Go watch “One,” everyone.

Fake Edge: Which “One”?

Fake Bono: “One.”

Fake Edge: But which one of our “One”s? We have three “One”s.

Fake Bono: Of course. Surely she must mean every “One”…?

Fake Edge: One billion views for each one of the “One”s, then.

Fake Bono: Get on it, people: I fully expect three billion views! Then watch my daughter’s show, and you can spend the remainder of your day listening to U2 X-Radio.

Fake Edge: We realize there is some repetition in the radio programming, so don’t feel like you have to listen to it for 24 hours—

Fake Bono: How else are they going to memorize it, Edge?

Anyway, that’s it for now, U2 fans—all of you who remember lying in bed / with your covers pulled up over your head / radio playin' so no one can see. We need change, we need it fast! And to paraphrase **Sam 10, speak the truth from your heart and you will never be shaken. We love you!

*Ultimate Guitar Secrets of the Universe, dudes

**Bongolese for “Psalm”

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 5/22/20 Kelly Eddington 5/22/20

DearBaE Volume 3: Fitness

Fitness, Food, and Fake Fake B?

Dear BaE,

With the quarantine here in [New Jersey], what I miss most is walking along the path at my local park. What are you two generally slim fellows doing for exercise during the lockdown? Looking for some ideas to help me stay fit.

@charov (Twitter)

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: First, I take issue with your use of “generally,” but this is an otherwise excellent question. I’ve got two words for you, Charov: accountability buddies.

Fake Edge: What do you mean, “buddies?” You have more than one?

Fake Bono: Edge, we are separated by an eight hour time difference. I wouldn’t dream of disturbing your sleep while I begin my morning fitness routine.

Fake Edge: Which consists of…?

Fake Bono: Well, first I take a brisk walk through every room in the house, so that’s an easy three miles. Then I patrol the grounds and the beach.

Fake Edge: Impressive.

Fake Bono: The beach walk just happens to coincide with the appearance of one Matt Damon on his balcony. He is quarantining next door!

Fake Edge: You’ve made this abundantly clear to me over the past several weeks.

Fake Bono: Our schedules appear to be remarkably similar. As soon as I spot him, I break into a sprightly trot. This tells Matt Damon that Old Man Bono is still in championship form, and as far as he knows, Old Man Bono has been running since sunrise. This inspires him to come down and join me at an appropriate distance. We exchange pleasantries and run until my phone conveniently “rings,” and I “answer” it. “President of South Korea [or similar], gotta take this,” I shout at Matt apologetically. Oh, and then after supper I’ll check in with Fake Edge. In conclusion, accountability buddies!

Fake Edge: Well, that was very informative, but I’m not sure how it helps Charov, who is probably not bffs with Matt Damon or even Ben Affleck. Charov, what you need is a workout routine that you can stick to at home, on your own, whether you have an “accountability buddy” to report to or not. Something that will make you feel better even if you find yourself feeling alone. Abandoned. Friendless.

Fake Bono: Oh, not the Welsh Yoga routine again.

Fake Edge: I was thinking of something like Jazzercise.

Fake Bono: That’s not a real thing, surely.

Fake Edge: Oh no? Well, I happen to have a link to a full Jazzercise workout video right here. With guidance from the instructor, Charov can tailor it to their own needs. It’s the perfect indoor workout for people who find themselves suddenly—and profoundly—lonely. Nay, betrayed. Replaced.

Fake Bono: Uh-oh.

Dear BaE,

Maybe while I’m quarantining I should learn some new recipes...I wonder if Fake Bono and/or Fake Edge have some good suggestions? What do Irish rock stars cook when they have the time?

Brian B.

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Alright, Fake The Edge, I don’t want to further hurt your feelings, but let’s get into it: who abandoned who? Which one of us is half a world away from home base, i.e. Dublin, Ireland, in case you have forgotten?

Fake Edge: Technically, I am one-third of a world away.

Fake Bono: You might as well be five-twelfths of a world away! My point is, you should be the one I’m running with on the beach. Matt Damon pales in comparison. You know this.

Fake Edge: It’s unfortunate. I’m sorry for becoming huffy.

Fake Bono: I miss you.

Fake Edge: We can talk about this later on today’s band Zoom meeting.

Fake Bono: I also just think it would be fun if Matt Damon ran with us sometime.

Fake Edge: To answer your question, Brian, nothing beats a good recipe swap, which is what the band does before we wrap up our Zoom meetings. Last week Fake Adam showed us how to make a really ripping lentil soup.

Fake Bono: Fake Larry and Fake Adam send their warmest regards, dear readers, by the way. Fake Adam has a beard now! And his hair has become so long and luxurious that he requires a hairnet while cooking. Meanwhile, Fake Edge has fashioned arm hairnets for himself.

Fake Edge: Safety first or not at all, Fake B.

Fake Bono: He uses them while assembling pizza ingredients that other people have gathered for him. And Fake Larry, whose normal penchant for off-season isolation makes him unusually well-equipped for the world in which we find ourselves, shared his elegant recipe for baked potatoes.

Fake Edge: “Heat and eat.”

Fake Bono: As for me, I have been far too busy writing fan letters and compiling a certain blockbuster playlist , so I’m afraid I don’t have any recipes to share at this time. But if you stop and think about it, aren’t playlists kind of like recipes? Mine includes one cup of punk, a heaping tablespoon of oldies, a dash of Gen Z because I’m cool like that, opera to taste, and two pounds of blatant shoutouts to my friends and contemporaries.

Fake Edge: Sounds interesting, B.

Fake Bono: Wait. Excuse me? Don’t you dare tell me you haven’t listened to it yet, Fake Edge. It’s only the most important playlist of my life.

Fake Edge: I’m afraid that if I listen to it, I will become even more homesick than I am now. A couple of your letters made me misty-eyed, and I had to lie down.

Fake Bono: Ah. There, there.

Fake Edge: Yeah.

Fake Bono: You will listen to it, though.

Dear BaE,

Last week, I received a private instagram message from bono_vox_42069. His profile picture was the one from the Michka Assayas book cover—one of my favorite pictures of you, Bono! (I mean that wasn’t my favorite Bono era, but you looked good anyway.) Of course I got very excited. Here is what the message said: “Hello dear. How u doin today? I want to sinseerly thank u for ur support so far up our page. U2 wouldn be here without our fans.”

Was it you, Bono? It doesn’t really sound like you, but maybe you don’t type so well when you’ve had a few drinks?

Eterna Leigh Hopeful,

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Bono: Well, Eterna, as they say in the news media, there’s a lot to unpack here. Edge, stop laughing.

Fake Edge: I can’t—

Fake Bono: Edge, this is not helpful. Eterna, I had to walk away and think about your letter for a bit. I even showed it to Ali. After she explained the significance of “42069” to me—

Fake Edge: What?

Fake Bono: Hey, I didn’t realize it was part of “meme” culture, alright? Stop snickering.

Fake Edge: I’m still trying to deal with “so far up our page.”

Fake Bono: Look Edge, some fans are just really far up our page! You ought to be grateful. But let me get back to Eterna’s question. Darling, I am very sorry to tell you that I did not send that enchanting missive. Apart from this column, the members of U2 do not interact directly with fans via social media. It’s not that we don’t want to, but we would be inundated with fan mail and the occasional credible threat if we tried. As it is, all of our social media accounts are maintained by a mysterious lad called Fergus who operates from an undisclosed location on the Dingle Peninsula. We are all about security, and we like to maintain an aura of mystery.

Fake Edge: We do?

Fake Bono: We do. With the exception of Edge, who allows his graceful ballerina of a wife to post pictures of him mowing the lawn, fixing leaky faucets, and of course assembling pizzas.

Fake Edge: She does?

Fake Bono: Oh dear…Eterna, I apologize on behalf of bono_vox_42069, whomever he may be. Please do not interact with that person. In fact, for your own safety, delete the message entirely.

Fake Edge: That’s exactly right, Bono. Sadly, our world is full of con artists, and technology provides them with easy marks.

Fake Bono: Indeed. I myself once answered a number of emails from a certain BDylanBlowinWind@hotmail.com before I realized something was amiss, but that’s a story for another day. One last thing before we bring this column to a close. Eterna, I am a human being. I don’t have “eras.” I can’t just jump back to 1997 all willy-nilly and slip into the bubble suit—

Fake Edge: More’s the pity.

Fake Bono: Edge might bring back the pornstache, though. We can only be Eterna Leigh Hopeful.

That’s all for now, U2 fans—you pack of well-raised wolf cubs! To paraphrase *Sam 121, keep your eyes lifted to the hills! We love you.

*Bongolese for “Psalm”

Kelly Eddington 4/24/20 Kelly Eddington 4/24/20

DearBaE Volume 2: Smoke

The Smoke Machine IS Yours, Not mine

Dear BaE,

I laughed once or twice at your first column but it seems like kind of a weird thing for persons of your stature to take on. Can you explain why you’re doing it?

Daniel D.,

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Bono: Hi Daniel, and thanks for writing. I’ll just assume your reference to our stature has to do with our position in society, and not our height.

Fake Edge: Bono...

Fake Bono: Okay, okay. It’s simple, really. We both quite enjoyed the work of this website’s very own Answer Guy, and we wanted to provide the same kind of service for U2 fans that he did—answering questions about U2 in a funny, irreverent, but loving and respectful way. Because we understand that some of you might miss us when we’re not around.

Fake Edge: Also, we have been led to believe that this website hosts some kind of cartoon feature?

Fake Bono: Unfamiliar with it.

Fake Edge: No one will ever know for sure, but in one way or another, a precedent for humor has been set.

Dear BaE,

While watching your excellent “eXPERIENCE + iNNOCENCE LIVE IN BERLIN” concert film, I couldn’t help but wonder: do you miss the smoke?

My,

Fort Lee, NJ

Fake Edge: Mia is referring to our final concerts on the European leg of the tour. Bono famously lost his voice during our initial Berlin show—

Fake Bono: Do you really need to say “famously”?

Fake Edge: Well, you are an icon.

Fake Bono: Legend.

Fake Edge: Of course. You are a legend—

Fake Bono: Thanks, Edge. So are you.

Fake Edge: And as a legend, everything you do is inherently famous. So when you famously lost your voice that night, you thought smoke may have been the culprit. And this wasn’t the fun kind of smoke that sometimes emanates from our audience. It was the smoke that gets pumped onto the stage by our crew.

Fake Bono: I walked right into a wall of it. And the next thing I knew, my voice was gone.

Fake Edge: You poor thing.

Fake Bono: It took you forever to notice, The Edge. Not that I’m holding any kind of grudge.

Fake Edge: I have apologized to you every day for the past two-and-a-half years. I’m sorry.

Fake Bono: Do try to pay attention to me in the future.

Fake Edge: Back to the question. We got rid of the smoke because of you. So do you miss the smoke?

Fake Bono: Well, if you study our excellent video—and thank you for watching it, Mia—you’ll see that an all-black background creates an elegant simplicity that I think befits our status as, yes, legends. We clearly don’t need the smoke. On the other hand, a hazy, billowing cloud can be beautiful under coloured lights.

Fake Edge: It makes me wonder who started this smoke tradition in the first place.

Fake Bono: It doesn’t seem like something The Beatles would do.

Fake Edge: It’s not particularly punk, either. Come to think of it, onstage smoke smacks of King Crimson. Jethro Tull. E.L.O. Right? And we just followed blithely along without even questioning it.

Fake Bono: But come on, Edge. You’ve got to admit that nine times out of ten, smoke makes us look like plundering rock and roll Visigoths and/or romantic heroes riding horses along windswept moors. I mean, you? In that jacket with the fringe? Emerging from a cloud of magenta fog? Sublime.

Fake Edge: So you miss the smoke.

Fake Bono: I really do.

Dear BaE,

What’s the deal with Fort Lee, New Jersey? I don’t live there.

Betty C.,

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Edge: Hi Betty. First and foremost, we value your privacy, so we will never reveal your real name or location. Fort Lee, New Jersey is simply an homage to the late, great Gilda Radner.

Fake Bono: That’s all for now, U2 fans—you mad pack of beautiful scallywags! As yer man said in Sam* 31:24, be strong and let your heart take courage, even in Fort Lee, New Jersey, and everywhere else. We love you.

*Bongolese for “Psalm”

Kelly Eddington 3/7/20 Kelly Eddington 3/7/20

DearBaE Volume 1: Ask Us Anything!

Advice From Fake Bono And Fake Edge

Dear BaE,

I just wanna say that you guys look great for your age. I’ve been your biggest fan since 2001, when my mom would sit in the kitchen all night with a large vodka, a box of tissues, and All That You Can’t Leave Behind on the boombox. Anyway, I’m about to turn 29 and being old scares me. Any advice on how to keep my face from turning into beef jerky? Products? Surgery? I trust you completely. Rock on dudes.

Jimbo,

Fort Lee, New Jersey

Fake Edge: Hi Jimbo. Naturally we all want to be the very best we can be at any age, but before we give you any advice we’d like to assure you that you are still in fact quite young—

Fake Bono: Still wet behind the ears there, Jimbo lad!

Fake Edge: Exactly. Wait, what does that even mean?

Fake Bono: Dunno. Amniotic fluid? Hey Jimbo, say hi to yer mum for me.

Fake Edge: …Anyway, you may or may not know that I’ve made a comprehensive study of the interconnection between health and food. Therefore, rather than recommend any product or procedure, I urge you to eat a lot of fresh fruit and veg, organic if you can afford it―

Fake Bono: Grow it yourself if you’ve got a big house with land, like we do. In France...Excuse me. One second. Hello, Enzo. For lunch I think I’ll have the fettucine con ovoli, parmigiano, e tartufo bianco along with a Guinness. And Edge wants...just a quart of raw blueberries, yes?

Fake Edge: The usual.

Fake Bono: And...ooh, how about some pan fried morel mushrooms...for the table.

Fake Edge: But I don’t like thos―

Fake Bono: Thank you, Enzo! Back to the question at hand. Jimbo, the vast majority of the world’s population was not blessed with Edge’s exquisite bone structure. That’s just a sad fact. I pick my battles and focus on my strengths. If you have a million-dollar smile, for example, do what you can to turn it into a billion-dollar smile. If legendary hair is your calling card, there are things you can do to ensure that it stays legendary. Then let everything else do what it’s going to do anyway. This gives the impression that you are also a formidable intellect with other interests.

Fake Edge: With some dedication, I’ve found that it’s possible to turn what some might view as a fashion liability into an iconic non-issue.

Fake Bono: I love your 365 little hats.

Fake Edge: Thanks, B. Of course, exercise is also key. You don’t have to be able to get on your knees and bend yourself all the way back till your head touches your heels while playing the “Mysterious Ways” solo, but―

Fake Bono: But it couldn’t hurt!

Fake Edge: It could actually hurt a lot. I was going to say, a little weight-bearing exercise such as jogging or walking will do wonders.

Fake Bono: Or you could just hurl yourself into a crowd of adoring fans and let them bear your weight.

Fake Edge: I think that’s a little beyond the means of most New Jersey residents.

Fake Bono: What about Springsteen?

Fake Edge: Fair point.

Fake Bono: Sinatra…

Fake Edge: Please, this is not the time to go all moon-eyed. We’re addressing Jimbo’s concerns now.

Fake Bono: [clears throat] Right. You know, working on my very real and totally not ghostwritten autobiography has forced me to dig up a lot of old band pictures. We were all so fresh-faced at the beginning―I mean, Larry was basically a zygote―but what you see in those young faces is merely the outer manifestation of our innocence.

Fake Edge: Oh, here we go…

Fake Bono: So perhaps the best advice we can offer young Sonny Jimbo Lad is, guard your innocence.

Fake Edge: And at the same time, getting older, even as old as Bono, who will turn 60 mere weeks from now―

Fake Bono: I will become a #sexygenarian, young Edge.

Fake Edge: Being as old as Bono is a gift and one you should embrace, especially during these troubling times. We want you and all of our fans to live long and fulfilling lives.

Fake Bono: Yes. You must stay safe because we fully plan to create new music for you, possibly as soon as six to eight years from now! So ultimately a face like mine is the goal. This issue is so important to me that I am commemorating it with an exciting new activism bracelet. Can you read it from that distance, Edge, or do you require your readers?

Fake Edge: You know I have the eyesight of an eagle, Bono, and I can read it from here.

Fake Bono: Do you love it?

Fake Edge: It’s highly appropriate. I’ll let you read it to Jimbo.

Fake Bono: THE GOAL IS OLD!

Fake Edge: It certainly is, B. And now, I will play us out with some of those silvery harmonics that you love so well.

Fake Bono: Thank you, The Edge. As Yer Man wrote in Sam* 5:11, “Let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, even in Fort Lee, New Jersey.” And FFS wash your damn hands.

Fake Edge: And don’t touch Bono’s face.

*Bongolese for “Psalm”