Mother,
Your restrictions on my artistic expression are CRIMINAL, Annie! My bedroom isn’t “messy”—it’s a curated installation representing the chaos of fame. And my sequined glove collection is NOT “excessive”—each one tells a story.
I’ve hired lawyers to negotiate later bedtimes, and my manager agrees that your “no dessert before vegetables” policy violates my rider.
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.
Dr. Einstein,
Your photoelectric paper missed the OBVIOUS application: catnip effects! I exist in multiple states simultaneously—frenzied yet relaxed—demonstrating quantum superposition on a macro scale.
Your E=mc² explains why I sleep 16 hours daily. My modest mass converts to ENORMOUS energy when zooming at 3 AM. I’ll expect proper credit in your next publication.
Chairman Mao,
Today we announced iPhone—truly revolutionary, unlike your revolution that couldn’t fit in pockets. Your Little Red Book had great production values but terrible UI and too many forced upgrades.
At Apple, we know revolutions need beauty AND function. Our devices people WANT to use, not MUST use.
Bill,
Your iambic pentameter walked so my 280-character tweets could run. You invented 1,700 words when language wasn’t enough; I invent companies when products don’t exist.
We’re basically the same person except my hair is more complicated than Hamlet’s entire plot. I’m naming my next child “Puck420,” inspired by your work.
Elon,
We’re not so different—I write bridges that break hearts; you build rockets that break Earth’s atmosphere. I’ve rebranded more times than you’ve rebranded Twitter.
P.S. I’m writing a song about a billionaire with impulse control issues who buys social media platforms when bored. Any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.