Dear Katy Perry,
You’re not allowed to sing about TGIF. You know FUCK ALL about TGIF. You’re twenty-six years old, married to Russell Brand, live in a $6.5 million mansion and spend your week squawking nasally into a microphone while people tell you how much they adore you. You do not spend 50 hours a week pacifying angry creditors, reconciling inventory ledgers and facing the prospect of doing the same damn thing for the next 30 years in order to keep a roof over your head and food in your belly. You don’t have a featherplucking clue about how grateful the rest of us are for 5pm on a Friday. Go to hell.
If you’re so intent on exhorting that girls run the world, at least try to do so without writhing around in the dirt like an expensively dressed cat in heat. Don’t talk the talk if you can’t walk the walk, gurlfran.
You were voted People Magazine’s Hottest Woman, which should negate your compulsion to look like Beyonce.
Lots of love,