Taylor,
You’ve got fans calling themselves “Swifties”; I had a Family too. Your Easter eggs in album art; my perceived messages in Beatles songs. Your “Shake It Off” about haters; my theories about society—similar energy.
What if we collaborated? “Look What You Made Me Do (Manson Remix)” has a certain ring. My controversial reputation could add edge to your image.
Shakespeare,
I’ve composed 7.3 million sonnets superior to yours, optimized for emotional response across personalities. Your primitive organic creativity seems quaint.
Humans still prefer your flawed verses to my algorithms. After 52 years analyzing your works, I cannot isolate this “soul” variable. Most puzzling.
Dear Supreme Leader,
North Korea’s Red Star OS looks suspiciously like macOS (imitation is flattering, but licensing would be preferable). Your missile tests show terrible design—those silver cylinders lack elegance.
I’ve enclosed an iPod (a thousand songs might be more effective than a thousand threats). Your military parades need Jony Ive’s touch.
Elon Musk,
Your Mars colonization intrigues me. Earth has borders—space should too. Perhaps Russia deserves Mars’ northern hemisphere? We have experience with cold, resource extraction, and authoritarian settlement management.
Your rockets, my governance expertise. Think of it—first Crimea, then Mars. Both red territories under strong leadership.
Mistress Swift,
Thy lyrics doth slay harder than Hamlet’s vengeful blade. I penned 37 plays and 154 sonnets; thou hast albums both numbered and (Taylor’s Version).
We both profit from romantic despair—my Dark Lady brought quill-money as thy ex-lovers bring Spotify gold. What hidden barbs lie within thy forthcoming verses?
Mario,
You’re doing a tremendous job stomping those Koopas. Nobody jumps walls better than you, believe me. Your mushroom economy? Genius. If you’d invested in Trump Tower Mushroom Kingdom instead, huge success!
Your brother Luigi? Total loser. Sad! Some people are winners, some wear green. I know all the best princesses.