I'm Fucking Sick of Taylor Swift

I sprinted down the stairs, being sure to stomp extra loudly just in case some fortunate soul was still sleeping. If my ass was going to be awake at the crack of dawn (well, 8:45 was close enough in my opinion), so was everyone else in my general vicinity. I cranked up the car, reversed with barely a glance in the mirror, and hit the speed bumps in front of my apartment complex at 40 miles per hour, all in an effort to simultaneously display my irritation at the world and to make up for lost time since I’d taken an extra few minutes to smear some makeup on top of yesterday’s smeared makeup. Classing it up as always, going the extra mile for sophistication as I like to say.

As I punched the volume dial to turn on my stereo, the beginning of "Our Song" came on. "Fuck," I groaned. This was not a Taylor Swift morning. Any morning when you feel the need to hit the speed bumps at four times the appropriate speed limit is not a Taylor Swift morning. However, this was also not a morning in which I was going to make some sort of grand effort to change a CD or change to a radio station, so I altered the stereo not one little bit.

Instead, I listened to Taylor. It really got me thinking…….Taylor Swift needs to see a fucking shrink ASAP. She displays clear bipolar tendencies. Seriously, Taylor, make up your fucking mind, is he amazing or is he a fucking asshole?? Judging by most guys I know, he’s probably the latter. Half the time she’s depressed over something, the other half she’s living in this fantasy world where Prince Charming is carrying her up flights of stairs or some bullshit. Most guys I know don’t hit the gym nearly often enough to manage such a feat, and even if it’s physically feasible for them, the fact that they don’t have a romantic bone in their bodies prevents such behaviors.

Let’s face it; in the real world, guys don’t give two fucks about tapping on windows or the slam of screen doors; they want to bone. And a lot of us bitches want the same thing. If some guy started telling me what our song was while we were riding in the car, I’d politely ask him to pull over so that I could vomit. I don’t want some guy spreading rose petals across my bed; that’s just more shit for me to clean up, and the dirty clothes covering my floor already have me fully booked in the cleaning department. I also don’t want some guy thinking of me whenever he hears a Tim McGraw song; Tim McGraw is a middle-aged man, and I’d like to think that our resemblance is slim to none. Oh and I have never ever seen sparks fly when I look at anyone. If I did, I would be far too alarmed at the impending fire safety hazard to be swept away in the moment.

And although I sing along to her girl-power anthems just like every other female in the universe, I’m secretly that bitch that Taylor is singing about getting revenge on, the one who fucks her boyfriends. Sorry, Taylor, but I put my mouth to better use than whining about my shitty love life. I don’t necessarily do this out of a desire to be vindictive; it’s more an all around sense of boredom with life. Perhaps if Taylor would come out with some more exciting and less emo songs for me to sing along to, I wouldn’t be so bored, and I wouldn’t have to fuck other people’s men. Just a thought.

As I finally arrived at my turn, it suddenly hit me: I don’t want to go to motherfucking college at all. I really honestly have zero desire to take bullshit classes at some community college designed for people too ignorant to go to a real college. Fanfuckingtastic. I made the drive for nothing. I popped a quick U-y and took my happy ass back to the interstate. Taylor’s vocals did nothing to assuage my seething road rage as I inched forward through stop and go traffic.

Fucking Taylor and her fucking romantic notions. I don’t like kissing in the rain. In fact, I don’t like kissing in public at all. You know why? Because that cock blocks me from meeting other guys with potentially bigger dicks. PDA is a complete waste of time. It is a recipe for blue balls for the guy and getting stuck with a guy with a scrawny dick for the girl. The dictionary definition of a lose-lose situation.

Also, what’s with the Romeo and Juliet fetish? Clearly, the bitch has never actually read the play because last time I checked it’s not a "Love Story," it’s a Shakespearean tragedy. Romeo and Juliet are both fucking idiots, and they both end up dead. Now, the being fucking idiots part seems consistent with most of Taylor’s relationships; the ending up dead part, however, is not something she seems to be planning for even though some of her lyrics are so emo I do wonder if she’s going to start cutting down the river instead of across the stream.

Taylor goes "back to December all the time," so I’m going to go back to December right now and say that I think the whole Taylor Swift- Taylor Lautner relationship was creepy for a number of reasons. First of all, whose name was she screaming in bed? His or her own?? Second, isn’t he like twelve years old? Way to rob the cradle, Taylor. Third, I’ve seen the Twilight movies, and I’m still not entirely convinced that he isn’t at least part werewolf. So, not only is she a pedophile, it also appears that she’s into bestiality. Geez, could her relationships get any weirder?

Why, yes, they could. The Joe Jonas relationship was even more pathetic as is made clear by the song "Forever and Always." If you’re with a guy for a month, why the fuck would he say he loves you and wants to be with you forever?? To get in your fucking pants, you prude. I don’t give a fuck if those Jonas Brothers wear promise rings or whatever, they still want to get in your pants. So why were you so shocked when he ended it with a 20 second phone call? That’s probably the same amount of time he lasted in bed, so don’t be so damn heartbroken.

I pondered all this as I weaved in and out of traffic with all the fury and intimidation of the late, great Dale Earnhardt. Finally, as I approached my exit after fifteen minutes of this nonsense, I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. I had glanced over and spied the same yellow Chevy Cobalt that had been next to me when I had first merged onto the interstate. All the sense of accomplishment I had felt blocking cars left and right suddenly faded into utter disappointment. Oh, well, now I guess I know how Taylor Swift feels when every single motherfucking time she falls head over heels for some dickhead, he breaks her heart, and she writes a song about it. Yup, making a whole lot of effort and getting nowhere truly blows. Now, before I slit my throat from listening to any more songs, I’m going to just admit that a productive day wasn’t in the stars for me and hit the sack because I’m fucking sick of Taylor Swift.