I imagine that every night, Taylor Swift stealthily slithers about her house while the world is asleep and snuggles up to one of her cats and proceeds to have a conversation in the dark about their plans for the night. After some purring, which Tay is finally able to translate into real human speak, she replies “The same thing we do every night, Olivia Benson. Try to take over the world.” And then she sits with her cats, laughing maniacally as she plans her global takeover.
“First, I’ll pull all my music from Spotify and YouTube!” she cries. “If a single soul wants to hear my hypnotic jams, they will have to pay — and oh will they pay.”
“Then, I’ll start TradeMarking every lyric of the songs I’ve forced into their brains. It will become so that you can’t feel sad without sending me a quarter.”
“You know what, Olivia Benson. I think it’s time I insure my legs for $40 million. NO ONE CAN HURT ME NOW!”
And no one did. Even I, her number one anti-fan, have gotten over being shocked by the crazy shit she does. Just keep doing you, Taylor. I look forward to the day this spirals into a full blown Britney or MJ meltdown, and I’m confident that it will, but until that day comes, no one is trying to sabotage you any more. No one is trying to cause you harm. Except your cat Meredith, apparently, who now owes you that $40 million. Thank God you have insurance.
I hate it when pretty girls try their hands at comedy. Stick to cranking out invasive pop hits and looking good in red lipstick.
And I guess, feel better..