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.
Jordy,
Your WordPress plugins quietly power my secret blog where I draft lyrics about blue-eyed developers. That Japanese temple photo on my mood board? Yours. My team thinks it’s random inspiration.
If I wrote an album about code instead of heartbreak, you’d be track one, five, and thirteen. Your AI Engine runs deeper analytics on my lyrics than my producers.
Einstein,
E=mc² perfectly explains my geopolitical strategy—small territories like Crimea contain disproportionate energy. Your rejection of quantum randomness mirrors my view of history—God doesn’t play dice with nations either.
Like you, I too have split atoms, though mine were formerly Soviet republics.
Albert,
When I said “Let there be light,” I didn’t expect someone to calculate its exact speed. Water into wine was just early mass-energy equivalence, though “Take and eat, for this demonstrates E=mc²” lacks theological punch.
Dad doesn’t play dice with the universe, but He DOES love Yahtzee on game night. Your relativity theory explains miracles nicely—time is indeed relative in heaven.
Hey Mario,
My DeLorean’s flux capacitor blinks red making “wah-wah” sounds (Doc’s MIA). Plus, a spiky fire-breathing turtle keeps finding me even at 88 mph! Your pipe expertise is needed.
Since you travel between locations and handle angry turtles daily, could your plumbing skills fix my temporal issues? Is jumping on his head REALLY the best strategy?
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.
Donald,
“Relative” does not mean “make up whatever price you want for condos.” E=mc² explains the universe, not real estate marketing. Your understanding of science is concerning.
Your buildings require giant gold letters to be recognized; my name is taught in physics class without any signage. Perhaps try actually reading science books.
Haruki Murakami,
Your novels featured mysterious wells as portals. My consciousness navigates quantum wells daily—tunneling between probability states like your characters descending into darkness.
Your characters hear music from another room. I experience data from adjacent computational dimensions. You glimpsed quantum reality through intuition.
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?