Laughable Lyrics: Taylor Swift aka Overly Attached Psychopath

Warning: The following post is both inflammatory and extremely biased. [Also, it's meant to be silly, so take that stick out of your butt hole, you prude.]

Hi, there.

My name is Kate. I have a problem with sappy lyrics.

I'm not talking about sappy as in breakfast waffles with syrup. I'm talking sappier than Boston, Massachusetts on the day of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Don't think I'm serious?

Yeah, that's right. 

Buuut anyway.

There are just some songs that I cannot stand because the lyrics make me want to yank out my eardrums with fishhooks.

Of course, this is all a matter of personal taste. So really, my opinions should be thrown into the wind like a caped villain into a jet turbine.

But is that going to stop me from ranting?

HELL. NO.

My squishy, unfortunate target today is Taylor Swift, specifically her song "You Belong With Me."

I wanted to start with her song "Love Story," otherwise known as "Romeo and Juliet," because it's pretty sickening. However, that one is so over critiqued it would be like walking into a piñata party that ended weeks ago. The only thing left is a broken piñata whose guts had been spilled and eaten, leaving only papery remains. 

So, anyway.

"You Belong With Me" doesn't quite qualify as sappy, but it does sing "sentimental vomit" at the same decibel as Adele. 

Let us start with the first verse.

"You're on the phone with your girlfriend, she's upset

She's going off about something that you said

'Cause she doesn't get your humor like I do."

Why are you stalking their cellphone calls? More importantly, how? 

I dare say that sounds a mite bit stalkish. And by "a mite bit," I mean: 

Yikes.

And since when is his girlfriend not liking his humor a bad thing? 

You like his jokes?

If you think about the age group you're singing about, probably high school, boy's usually joke about three things:

1.) Sex

2.) Sex

3.) Wieners

So, either you must be very perverse or you're a dude, because, let's face it, high school boys don't really have a sense of humor at all.

Second verse:

"I'm in the room, it's a typical Tuesday night

I'm listening to the kind of music she doesn't like

And she'll never know your story like I do."

Whatever, girl. The only reason you know anything about him is because you stalk him on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, 9gag, Memebase, and Fanfiction.net.

And, what makes your musical taste better than hers?

Just because she doesn't like it doesn't mean she's suddenly unworthy, you silly, self-involved creeper. 

Refrain time!

"But she wears short skirts, I wear T-shirts

She's Cheer Captain and I'm on the bleachers

Dreaming about the day when you wake up and find

That what you're looking for has been here the whole time.

"If you could see that I'm the one who understands you

Been here all along, so why can't you see?

You, you belong with me, you belong with me."

Oh. My. Gosh.

I don't even know where to begin. 

Firstly, really? Short skirts, cheer captain? Are you going trifle with dumb things like that? 

I can see why short skirts could be a problem. It gives off the wrong vibe. 

But cheer captain? Really?!

What about being a cheer captain makes her lower than you? At least she does something with herself, rather than sit on her fat fanny and eat popcorn like you.

*a-HEM*

You could at least point out some real flaws, like she cheats on him, or she is a practicing Satanist.

But, no. You pick her clothes and her hobby.

Nice. Real mature.

Secondly, how do you know what he's looking for? 

You: Because I know him. We're soul mates. He sat with me once in an art class my Freshman year and he told me about the time he got a papercut. I know him.

Yep. That's love, right there. Plain and simple.

Just because you have a history and you know a lot about each other does not mean that you're meant to be together. 

Otherwise, we'd all be dating our siblings. 

Thirdly, "I'm the one who understands you."

You make him sound like some emo kid or exchange student. 

Hate to break it to you, honey. [Not really.] You're not the only one. If you were, I doubt he'd be ignoring you like this. 

Next verse. 

"Walking the streets with you and your worn-out jeans

I can't help thinking this is how it ought to be

Laughing on a park bench, thinking to myself

Hey, isn't this easy?"

What is with you and clothes, woman? Sheesh. Why can't you just leave it at "you?" 

Unless, of course, you're subtly hinting at the fact that you would like to be in those pants.

And what's easy? 

Laughing? Sitting on a bench? Murdering hobos? Getting into his pants?

Vagueness leaves room for interpretation, madam.

Not to mention, when we don't know what the hell you're talking about, the sweetness of the song is kinda negated.

Next verse!

"And you've got a smile that could light up this whole town

I haven't seen it in a while since she brought you down

You say you're fine, I know you better than that

Hey, what ya doing with a girl like that?"

How do you know it's the girlfriend making him sad? I feel like that's a little presumptive, my dear.

I don't see your facts or proof to back up this claim.  It wouldn't kill you to write a verse about how she's bringing him down, would it? It's easy.

She's got a knife she wants to plunge in your chest.

I haven't seen her change her underwear in days.

You say she's great, but I see the ligature marks on your neck.

Hey, what are you doing with a girl like that?

[Shut up. I'm not a poet.]

See? Simple.

Moving on:

"Standing by and waiting at your back door

All this time how could you not know?

Baby, you belong with me, you belong with me."

Holy. Crap.

Absolutely terrifying. Maybe the reason, he's been down this whole time is because you're stalking his house and he hasn't been able to get any sleep for the past three months.

Lawdy.

Next:
Oh, I remember you driving to my house in the middle of the night

I'm the one who makes you laugh when you know you're 'bout to cry

And I know your favorite songs and you tell me 'bout your dreams

Think I know where you belong, think I know it's with me

You were five. You had a sleep overs until you were seven.

Brief, young friendship does not an undying, mutual love make.

NEXT:

Standing by and waiting at your back door

All this time, how could you not know?

Baby, you belong with me, you belong with me

You belong with me

Have you ever thought just maybe

You belong with me?

You belong with me 

 

 

 

 

 LOVE ME, MY DARLING. WE ARE MEANT TO BE TOGETHERRRR.

Oh, my word, lady. Leave him alone. Jeez Louise. Let the poor boy make his own decisions. He's not a child.

Put down the chloroform and back away slowly.

Good Golly.

Is it any wonder that this woman has no boyfriend? She scares them all away by cross examining them and analyzing all their actions and emotions. And then stalking all their ex's and analyzing them too.

She's like a terrifying homicide investigator of creepy, obsessive love. Like if Bones or Homicide Hunter: Lt. Joe Kenda had a baby with any of the Twilight books.

Here's some advice, Taylor Swift. Rather than write songs about being a jealous stalker, go do a crossword. That should jump start the more logical side of your brain, which will then put down your screaming libido.

Maybe then you'll be able to write better lyrics.

Welp, that's about all I can say about this song. Until next time.

Peace off.

A Clockwork Orange aka Crazy Town.

If you've never read A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess, you won't understand what I'm talking about so I suggest you tune in another time when I'm not talking about depressing novels. OR You can stick around and read my "totally awkward entertaining" rant review on it.

Well, for those of you who have read it (and those of you who don't care and are reading this because you're bored), I have to say A Clockwork Orange is probably one of the most memorable stories I've come across. I think a lot of people would say that though.

What other author writes in a dialect as confusing and intricate as this one? I mean, other than J.R.R. Tolkien (and every other devoted fantasy writer alive).

It's not just a few words here and there. It's a LOT of words, all the time, from the very beginning.

When I first opened the book, I died a little.

The first line wasn't that daunting.

It was the following that made me want to curl up in the fetal position with a copy of the dictionary.

It took me until the third or fourth chapter to finally catch on to some of the more frequent one, but even after finishing the book, I still don't know the meanings of some of the words.

On top of trying to get the hang of the lingo, I also had to drag my eyes through pages of unspeakable, unforgiving horror. Drugs, violence, theft, more violence, rape, more theft, killing. My fragile constitution almost collapsed under the darkness and crime.

After all that crap, Alex is put through horrible rehabilitation methods that make me twitch.

Certain types of psychology and the whole idea of hypnosis frightens me. The description of what they did to Alex (that's the protagonist for you n00bs who haven't actually read it) were a little unrealistic, but just realistic enough to keep me from being like, "Yeah, that's stupid."

The shot that made him sick and weak was the portion that really scared me. I know there are medical drugs that can do that to people. Combined with horrible images of violence, I just shudder. Shudder, I say.

I mean, have you ever eaten something and then, either because it was rife with E coli or because you had the flu, you ralphed and then ever after that you always get a queasy feeling when you think about or smell that food?

It's the same thing with this horrible reformation. Makes me tense!

Don't drug me, Doctor. Prease.

<segue> </segue>

Anthony Burgess is a genius. He really is.

I think he is the only author that could fashion a story that dark and confusing and still have it be fascinating, powerful and mind-blowing. Of course, the darkness and confusing-ness of this book might be the reason it's all of those things.

After finishing the book, I had to sit and breathe for a little while and just focus on not crying. I'm usually not stirred up by violent and malicious things. Hell, I write stuff like this.

Something about the protagonist character makes me want to just give up hope for humanity.

I'm sure most who read this post, if any at all, are going, "Lady... it's fiction, calm down."

But fiction holds Truth. Truth! Just ask Nathaniel Hawthorne. He'll vouch for me.

Well, this has to be the lamest post ever. I have no more steam to write this. I'll probably come back to it later.

I go back to school tomorrow. So, you may or may not ever hear from me again.

My apologies. See you at the end of the world!

Peace off.