I can’t take this anymore. I need help.
No, no, no—not that kind of help—I’m talking about therapy. Why? Because apparently my sanity is nonexistent. I’m about to suffer from a nuclear catastrophe. My coolant system is broken, temperature is rising, the core can no longer be contained, people are evacuating: welcome to my mental meltdown! 10…9…8…7…6…5…4…3…2…1! Here we go!
I mean…this needs to stop. Immediately. You see…I have this itsy-bitsy problem—and it’s causing me to lose sleep. I’m not sure where to begin. FUCK!
Twitter has been suggesting that I follow Taylor Swift.
Yes, you read that correctly. Me. Yours truly. Taylor Swift. Follow. What the fuck?…I mean…I’m flattered!…I’m shocked!…am I? No, not at all! I’m fuckin’ pissed-off!
I know what you’re thinking. Tell me if it sounds a little like this: “You dumb bastard! Unsubscribe from the email subscription! Duh.” No shit Sherlock—of course I unsubscribed! 35 fuckin’ times!!! And I’m still receiving that damn email, or text. Do you want to know what the real kick in the nuts is? I don’t even use Twitter. Yeah. That’s right. I signed up for an account, logged-in for about ten minutes, and then ditched that shit. I don’t use Twitter. Do you hear me Taylor? I DON’T USE TWITTER!
Some people need more than 140 characters to express themselves, okay?
In case you don’t quite understand my woes, I’ll go ahead and describe the burning hell I’m suffering through:
Every-time I think I received an important email…nope…it’s Taylor!
Every-time I think I received an important order confirmation…nope…it’s Taylor!
Every-time I think I received a shipping notice…nope…it’s Taylor!
Do you see a pattern here?
Is this how Taylor Swift black holed her fans? Sucking them in with a “glitchy” email spam? Don’t tell me some nerdy smart-ass didn’t program that shit not to work, because, after all, the world needs to follow Taylor Swift. Wait? What am I saying? The entire galaxy needs to follow Taylor.
How come Taylor Swift wants me to follow her?
The question keeps me awake at night, and every time I bend over and wipe my ass, I ponder: how come Taylor wants me to follow her? Why? Does she think I dig her tunes? Does she think I’ll take her to McDonald’s? Guess what? I actually don’t mind her music…it’s heartfelt…down to Earth…the lyrics are so meaningful…majestical instruments…yeah…yup…okay? I clearly lost my fucking mind!
Every-time I hear my email notification, guess who comes to mind? Oh—do you need a minute? I’ll wait. The name starts with a ‘T’…’a’…’y’…’l’…’o’…’r’—yes! You must of been paying attention. Who else has this problem? Anyone? Hello? I am the only one…ain’t I? SHIT!
I’m sorry Taylor, but I’m not going to follow you—it’s just not meant to be. Come on. You know better. I would break your heart. Cheer up! Here’s a tissue. Wipe your tears…oh! While you’re at it…take me off your fucking mailing list. Thanks! I appreciate it.