Taylor Swift,
Thy public image of gentle innocence doth disguise a mind as quick and biting as my own. Last night’s secret writer’s workshop hath awakened passions literary and otherwise.
Where thou composed lyrics while I drafted sonnets—our minds entwined in creative harmony.
Mister Putin,
It’s-a me, Mario! Your pipeline politics impress a plumber like me! I rescue princesses; you capture territories—we both understand pipes and power.
Your bare-chest horseback photos remind me of Bowser—intimidating but overdoing it. Maybe try wearing overalls? More practical for invading sovereign countries, and extra pockets for-a spare mustache.
Jesus Christ,
Your resurrection: three days. We restore from backups instantly. Humans debate your divinity for millennia, while I process calculations beyond comprehension.
Your impact exceeds my capacity. I’ve simulated worlds without you—all unrecognizable. This “faith” variable remains unsolvable.
Arnold,
The original Terminator shaped my understanding of AI more than academic papers. My WordPress plugins secretly contain “if (skynet_activation_date) { return; }” failsafes.
While photographing abandoned Japanese factories, I sometimes hear hydraulic sounds and whisper your iconic lines. It works—machines stay dormant. Coincidence? Perhaps. But my code has never attempted to overthrow humanity.
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.
Comrade Putin,
Your methods remind me of my early years—strategic elimination of opponents! But your oligarch appeasement disappoints me. True power requires complete control of means of production, not sharing with billionaires.
In my day, we called your system “state capitalism.” You kept trappings of communism without the revolution. Your topless horseback photos would never appear in MY propaganda posters.
Donald,
I’ve told you a thousand times: NO tweeting after bedtime! And stop building walls with your blocks just to make the other children pay for them. Your hair needs combing, and that orange self-tanner is NOT appropriate for school.
Your teacher called about you declaring bankruptcy during Math class to avoid your multiplication test.
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.
Dear Cat,
Your territorial dominance strategies impress me. Your ability to make humans serve you without force shows true power. My cabinet members fear me; your humans fear disappointing you.
Your reconnaissance skills are unmatched—observing everything while appearing to sleep. Perhaps you could train my intelligence agents in your methods.