I don’t get it, if you don’t know your own name, how should we? Am I your mother? I am 99.95% sure I am not, and therefore, I didn’t name you, and cannot be blamed now for not knowing the name you refuse to give me.
Dear Rebecca Black,
I learned the days of the week before I was in preschool. I don’t need an autotuned adolescent describing their order. If you were on the “mentally handicapped” side of the IQ line, I would be proud of you. But because you have become famous for being terrible and are apparently not retarded, I literally could not care any less about you and the days of your week, than I do at this very second.
Dear Lady Gaga,
I am almost sure you weren’t born this way.
Now I can’t even eat those steaks because they have been strapped to your body. *sigh* Way to ruin what could have been a delicious meal for at least 8.
I hate you more for YOLO than I have ever hated any musician for any reason. Except Maroon 5, on basic principle alone. YOLO is further ruining an already terrible generation of brats. Go back to Degrassi.
|Look how adorable you were on Degrassi!|
Please, just stop. I get tired of reading all the bashing about you on the internet.
Dear Ellen DeGeneres,
Dear Cee Lo,
Agreed. Someone’s running around and cheating on you, screw them. Did the fact that you are crazy rich and famous give you any awkward moments when singing about a gold digging twatwaffle who stepped out with a rich dude?
|bwhahaha! I totally didn't even make this!|
Dear Avril Lavigne,
When DID life get so damn complicated? There are so many things I’m sure you wish you’d never said to that sk8r boi. Like “yes, frontman of Nickelback, I shall become wed to you for life.”
Dear Katy Perry,
This hurts, it really does. I like you! I think Firework is fun and a lot of your songs are catchy and innocuous. Unfortunately, you then came out with the monstrosity of “Last Friday Night.” Let me see if I understand...you drank too much, blacked out, maybe slept with some random, possibly broke the law, and you’re excited about doing it all again next week. Not exactly the fairy tale you like to tell people you live. Way to send out good role model vibes to those millions of tweens, though. Good call.
Dear One Direction,
I want to hate you, I really do. But, the only thing I actually know about you is “What Makes You Beautiful,” and I actually like it. Ok, then. Moving on.
Dear Backstreet Boys/N*SYNC/Britney Spears/Xtina,
I sometimes still find myself singing one of your songs. It is nostalgic and somewhat embarrassing. Is there some sort of way for me to forget these lyrics? Songs I literally haven't listened to in 10 years are alarmingly easy to remember, and yet I have difficulty sometimes remembering the combo to my locker at the gym by my apartment.
Also, can someone tell me...what is a Wiz Khalifa? I don’t get these names some people come up with. Where did you get the inspiration for that, slamming your face into the keyboard?
If I did that, my name would be 9hiwgjolsb.
Because that is what just happened when my face met the keyboard. (It’s pronounced “Seven.” The 9 is SILENT. DUH.)
|Get it?? 'Cause Chuck Norris would attack before he could be insulted!|
And, because I adore puns in a very exciting and wonderful and not at all annoying way, enjoy this: