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.

The Urge to be Emo

Well, I was sitting here, trolling around the internet, and I had the overwhelming impulse to do something exquisitely emo.


I'm not sure if this is left over emo-sediment from my Freshman year of college, or if I'm just massively hormonal, but occasionally, I just want to do something really, really emo.


Like:

Or 

Level of Emo.

Really emo...

Usually, my first inclination is to post a really angsty Facebook status like:


"Life sucks and guess what? You'll never measure up, and most of the time, no one will care about your lost hopes."
(I actually just made that up as I was typing this...)


But I have the feeling that 98% of my friends would give me that look that House gets when he thinks someone is really stupid. 

That one. 

BUT.

I also don't want other people, who don't really know me, to go:  

 OMG, I tuutally no how u feal. 

Which would be unavoidably followed by their own terrible story.

Which usually has to do with their parents being an unbearable burden because they wouldn't buy them a car only drug lords can afford.

Or because they wouldn't let them go out and ruin their lives by drinking enough to kill a 300 pound Irishman.

That foofaraw is a whole lot more annoying than people frowning at me, as if I told them all my organs had liquified due to my raw, untamed despair.

It's similar to having someone rub their hand on my unshaven legs––against the grain. 

Emo statuses also have a tendency to worry people unnecessarily. 

Especially when the cause of the distress probably had to do with the fact that A. ) I didn't get to shower that morning. Or B.) I got an 95% on a test and not a 100%. (Yeah, I'm THAT kind of person.)

So, because I don't want to be THAT person––at least not publicly––I don't ever post emo statuses. 

Though, I still have the itch to do something that reeks of teen angst and self-pity. 

My next consideration is to post a super emo photo of myself. 

I figure that a really blurry, high contrast self-portrait will properly alert people to my inner distress.

It would probably look something like this:

[Yes, this is another actual photo of me...]

In my head, my "truly emo" image evokes the same emotion as this: 

[Photo copyright to rockthenations]

But, in reality, to everyone else, I just look like this:

So, I don't post emo pictures of myself either. 

Do any other people have these urges? 

If you do, What do you do with them?! 

I'm completely at a loss. 

My only other option, aside from the ones above, is to sit in my room, in the dark, playing Red Jumpsuit Apparatus or Evanescence, and writing angsty poetry about the wittle mousey I saw get run over on my way to work.

And that is right out. 

If I did, all my hair would turn black, I'd have the urge to get myself pierced in unspeakable places, but even worse, I'd want to listen to Lady Gaga and Justin Beiber. (I've really got nothing against the Beibs, in reality.)

Bah.

BAH, I say.

Generally, when I get the feeling to be emo, I sit there and stare at the computer screen, wondering if I should purge my font of emo feelings or if I should squelch them under a large boulder of denial.

Or I go watch crime shows. 

Because hearing about other people's misfortune satisfies the darkness in my soooooul.

[Not really.]

Well, my angstiness has passed and I don't know what else to write. 

Peace off.