When the internet nearly exploded into a zillion megabytes last night over the news that Taylor Swift has finally gotten political, the Democratic Donkey and the Republican Elephant probably clenched their assholes an extra kind of tight in anticipation over what side she’d take. As pop stars like Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, and Beyonce made it Windex-clear (although, Windex does leave streaks, don’t come at me Windexheads) that they were with Her during the 2016 U.S. presidential election, Taylor stayed pretty much quiet and was accused of only caring about one party: the Party of Taylor Swift’s MONAY! And when Taylor was hailed by the alt-right as their queen, she didn’t publicly denounce their asses and instead went after a writer who wrote about it. But because things have become an even bigger flaming turd, Taylor has broken her political silence and endorsed a Democrat.
Peta Murgatroyd–one of those professional twirlers from Dancing With The Stars–did a long-ass interview for Health and it is long. So that you don’t have to read through the whole thing and bore yourself with how effortless this dancing blonde girl’s life is, I did for you. And here is the highlight: her husband, fellow dancer Maksim Chmerkovski, doesn’t use soap.
Oh how I hate Duchess Meghan. At night, she gets to listen to the sound of her now royal vagine cooing out the chorus to Hallelujah as it rubs on Prince Hot Ginge’s ginger crotch scepter. And during the day, she gets to put on
an Ann Taylor LOFT a Givenchy ensemble for her “day job” where she gets to work events with THE QUEEN who definitely mutters shit like, “Fuck this bollocks arse bloody arse blooming dumb shite, I could be watching EastEnders while Philly sucks on mi toes,” through her gritted teeth as she puts on a manufactured smile for her loyal subjects. Duchess Meghan is living the life, but she jacked that up today. This is the biggest act of disrespect by an American against the crown since those New England settlers broke up with Britain. This is even worse, actually!
And yes, I should tell you in advance that this post was co-written by Bitter and Petty. (“Aren’t all your posts?” – you)
That memory you have from yesterday of you deep throating two charbroiled hot dogs as your friend lit a sparkler that was stuck in your asshole in the name of freedom is just a figment of your imagination. That didn’t happen, because Fourth of July didn’t happen. There were no fireworks. There were no BBQs. There was no family party where your auntie got drunk on Svedka and La Vie (aka Aldi’s bootleg La Croix) while dropping it low on the concrete patio to Night Ranger’s (You Can Still Rock) In America. None of that happened yesterday because Fourth of July got canceled since it seems like Taylor Swift didn’t throw her annual Taymerica extravaganza. Every bald eagle is probably drowning in a puddle of their own tears while in the fetal position on the ground somewhere.
If you woke up on the floor this morning and figured that your Ambien did you something weird and caused you to sleep walk again, don’t think that. There’s a better explanation. The world tilted to the side from the monumental news that Chris Pine chopped off his locks and shaved his dome.