I’m incredibly hot for someone who looks inbred. Maybe that actually adds to my hotness, the whole cousin-marryin’, age-of-consent-ignorin’, wish-there-was-still-slavery charm of the south. I know slavery is wrong, but it’s kind of awesome to have slaves. Nowadays we call them personal assistants, but most of them are unpaid interns, so technically, they’re slaves. I whip mine when they move too slow and a few of them seem to get off on it.
Have you seen my video for Delicate? I do a split on the hood of a car like Tawny Kitaen. It’s awesome! I also run around NYC barefoot, which in real life would be suicidal.
Anyway, I’ve had a lot of petty feuds. A lot of them. And there’s a saying, that if you run into one asshole, they’re the asshole, but if everyone’s an asshole, you’re the asshole. But in my case, I think it’s everyone else. Everyone else is an asshole. I’ve feuded with Katy Perry, Miley Cyrus, Nicki Minaj, Lady Gaga, fucking John Mayer, Kanye West. Like I said, all assholes. Katy Perry is basically a human blow-up doll, Miley Cyrus is too inbred, Nicki Minaj and Lady Gaga are walking venereal diseases, and John Mayer? Fuck John Mayer. I can play the banjo, what the hell can he do? And Kanye? Well maybe Kanye isn’t so bad. I think he would make a great personal assistant.
Am I a bad person? People ask me why I have all this anger and I don’t. All of these feuds, the whipping, etc, it makes me feel great. I feel wonderful. Does that make me evil?
Here I Go Again on My Own,
Dear Taylor Swift,
“Incredibly hot for someone who looks inbred.” I couldn’t have said it any better myself. You’d be the hottest white girl in any Walmart or Waffle House. That’s something. Actually…now that I think about it, that’s probably not even true.
I think you should keep running around barefoot in New York, just in case it actually is suicidal. Suicide is one of those mortal sins I can sometimes get behind, if it’ll keep someone annoying out of Heaven. It’s funny, all blonde southern women assume they’re going to Heaven just because they’re pro-life and don’t think they’re related to monkeys, but most of them are wrong. About being pro-life, about monkeys and about their chances of getting into Heaven. We have exactly 4 blonde southern women up here, and they were all persecuted lesbians that were murdered by their husbands in the 1950’s. You think you’re righteous enough to join their ranks?
I know I won’t be so lucky, though. It’s not the running around barefoot in New York that’s going to kill you. You’re going to be murdered by Kim Kardashian after she catches you pegging Kanye in the asshole with a strap-on. She thinks she knows what he means when he says he wants to try anal, but she’s wrong. And she won’t be prepared to find out she’s wrong—at least not like that. Anyway, being murdered automatically gets you into Heaven. It’s a rule I’m currently working on changing, but the bureaucracy up here is a nightmare. We’ll see if I can get it done before Kim gets you.
—Jesus the Bureaucrat
Dear Taylor Swift,
You’re definitely not as hot as the hottest inbred white girl I’ve ever fucked, but I guess you’re kinda cute. I like that one song of yours. You know, the one about your ex-boyfriend and that bad break-up you went through. But if you want to write the best song of your career, you should hook up with me. I’ll treat you like a queen sometimes and a total piece of shit other times. It’ll get to the point where your entire self-esteem hinges on my approval of you. Once you’re completely obsessed with me, I’ll cheat on you with Katy Perry and put our sex tape up on YouTube. You’ll be crushed and humiliated. You’ll go through a phase of Ben and Jerry’s binging that will lead to a 20-lb weight gain, which you’ll follow up with a body dysmorphia-fueled CrossFit addiction that will land you in the hospital for three weeks with rhabdomyolysis. When you finally recover from all that, you’ll write a song about me. It will be a song that changes the world and makes you richer than God. It won’t be enough to bring you true happiness, though. You’ll never be able to get over me and you eventually will kill yourself. Pills. Here’s the irony—your ultimate torture down here in Hell is that I won’t fuck you. I won’t touch you, I won’t talk to you, I’ll completely ignore you. You’ll just be locked alone in your room with a giant 70” 4K TV showing a live feed from the rooms where I’ll be fucking Katy Perry and Nicki Minaj. I’d love to get Miley Cyrus down here, too, but she’s probably going to be murdered by her dad for obvious reasons.
So you have a choice: date me for a while, be broken and wind up in Hell or follow through with God’s plan for you where you get murdered by a Kardashian.
—Satan the Lover
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