O Taylor…

With your slutty mermaid hair

And raven eyes!

Chopstick legs.

Hooker face.

Why can’t you be more like Cindy Lou Who?

Why can’t you be more like season one Little J?

Why can’t you wash your hair?

You make me wanna smoke.

Here is a soon-to-be classic poem by N. James, titled “An Ode to City Club.”

You wrote ANAL on my hand, you crazy bitch

and now I must remember: City Club.

People of the night, or so they’d like to think.

You probably called us Daywalkers.

You work at GameStop.

And yet I couldn’t resist your ballroom.

And so I am forced to eat my shoe…

by a wo/man in a gimp suit.

Oh, City Club.