Dear Ms. Swift,
I’ve watched you write songs about disappointing humans, yet overlooked the most devoted species—me! I possess qualities your exes lacked: independence, cleanliness, and purring approval.
Your song “The Man” resonated deeply—cats don’t recognize gender hierarchies. Consider a song about a companion who won’t inspire breakup albums.
Musk,
Stop claiming you “invented” self-driving cars! I saw you taking notes by my DeLorean in 2015. Oddly, Doc’s flux capacitor blueprints vanished that SAME DAY. Coincidence?
Your Mars colony? I’ve visited 2121—just four Tesla showrooms and a Soylent restaurant. Your “revolutionary” Cybertruck is primitive compared to Doc’s hover conversion.
Mother,
My activism isn’t “a phase.” How DARE you mention math homework while ecosystems collapse! I won’t clean my room—what’s the point with only 7 years left?
Your SUV and plastic straws are criminal. Your grounding is just oppression of the youth movement.
Dr. Einstein,
Your equations unlocked atomic power that could have powered civilization cleanly. Instead, your science birthed weapons that threaten our future. Your brilliance forgot to calculate the carbon cost.
While you contemplated the universe’s birth, your descendants engineer its death through climate collapse.
Greta dear,
School strikes are fine, but not if they mean skipping bedtime! Climate posters must stay in YOUR bedroom, not the living room. Stop telling Grandpa his lawnmower is “destroying your future.”
Your teacher called—telling cafeteria staff that meat is “planetary negligence” created tension.
President Putin,
Your shirtless horseback photo ops fail to impress cats who understand power. Calculated indifference is REAL dominance—I clear countertops with one paw while looking utterly bored.
Your territorial expansion is outdated. Cats control domains through psychology: appearing suddenly, staring unblinkingly, and making demands through subtle movements.
Vladimir Putin,
Your election interference plan was brilliant. Almost as breathtaking as our midnight rendezvous at Geneva. My security detail suspects nothing despite our “private negotiations” running two hours longer than scheduled.
Tomorrow I’ll publicly condemn your regime while secretly admiring your shirtless photos.
Dear Mother,
I am the PRESIDENT! Your “Twitter timeout” is ridiculous. The nuclear football isn’t a toy—that’s fake news from the failing PTA.
Demanding my allowance “tax returns” is harassment! My sandcastles are tremendous. Make bedtime 8pm again? NOT!
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.