It’s official: Ringo Starr is the grumpiest man on the planet.

In a video to his fans – not that they’ll call themselves ‘fans’ for much longer – the ex-Beatle announced that after Oct. 20, he’ll no longer sign anything sent to him. In essence, Starr has said hello but goodbye to all and any fan mail sent his way.

Sure, music industry professionals don’t have a lot of free time. Boo hoo. Mr. Starr, you play music for a living. You have the job of your dreams, and you’ve been doing it your entire life. Sure, you’re talented, but without the peons you call fans, you’d be sitting on the curb of Abbey Road, vying for the pennies of passers-by.

The fans you just flipped off made you a music and cultural icon all over the world. Yeah, your drum-banging had something to do with it, but without anyone to listen, you’d still be playing in your mum’s basement.

If fans want to send you mail, let them. You don’t have to read it. Heck, you don’t have to acknowledge it, but these people paid for your good fortune. They pay for those evasive sunglasses you insist on living in. If they pay for the postage on the items they send you to be signed, you’re certainly not going to get carpal tunnel from obliging them this small favor. It’s OK for them to buy your albums and your memorabilia, but it’s not OK for them to ask you to sign it? The word chump comes to mind.

That’s not very peace and love, Mr. Starr.

If you’re busy, that’s fine. Do what you need to do, but don’t insult your fans in the process.

Let the fan mail stack up in your doorway, use it as napkins, or whatever you want, but silently decline; they might even forget they sent it to you after a while. If you insist on ignoring their attempts to connect with you, don’t be a jerk about it.

Don’t step on the people who gave you the lavish life you live today. That’s so not peaceful and it’s definitely not loving.

Shame on you.