"Swift’s popularity is being twisted into a threat by a contingent of far-right, Donald Trump-supporting conservatives who have started circulating conspiracy theories about the singer, the Super Bowl, and the 2024 election. — NPR

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Taylor Swift wakes up, stretches, and thinks, “How can I destroy America today?” It’s so important to set intentions.

She reaches for her guitar but quickly decides against it. “Not now,” she tells herself. “There are still men out there enjoying their lives because they are not thinking about me. They believe they have found a place on this planet where they are safe from my celebrity. I will find my way into their inner sanctuary. And I will fill that sanctuary with glitter. Everyone knows you can’t get rid of glitter. American men will never know peace.”

Taylor’s reverie is interrupted by a phone call. It’s Roger Goodell, commissioner of the NFL and, as of five months ago, Taylor’s indentured servant. She answers on the last ring. “You don’t call me,” she says. “I call you.”

She spends the next half-hour on her computer registering dead people to vote.

A little later, she calls Goodell back and reminds him that the Kansas City Chiefs will be winning the Super Bowl by thirteen points. Then she calls CBS to confirm how frequently she will be featured during the Super Bowl broadcast. “Remember, if I’m flying all the way back from Tokyo for this, it’s going to be the TAYLOR show,” she says, “with some sports in the background.”

She hangs up and cradles her youngest cat, Benjamin Button. “Wasn’t it so amazing of me to invent football?” she coos to him. “I can’t believe no one had even heard of it until I made it up last fall. I’m a creative genius.”

In the afternoon, she takes her private jet to the Pentagon to discuss her psyop duties. Afterward, she ducks into the White House to talk over campaign strategy with President Biden. She has given him a list of perfect policy ideas, like state-sponsored abortions for hot women with ugly boyfriends and replacing churches with “wokeness centers” that teach kids how to use TikTok and be gay, but he has struggled to implement them.

“He’s not very good at this,” she thinks. “Maybe I should run for president.”

She flies back to Kansas City to scoop up her boyfriend, Travis Kelce, who was way more famous than she was before she brainwashed him into dating her. Then they fly to New York and go to a fancy restaurant with lesbians and MSNBC anchors, where they all wash down a dinner of kale and tofu with Bud Lights.

Back at her apartment, Travis and Taylor have sex four times because she wants empowered unmarried women everywhere to know that they should be having tons of tons of sex with as many people as possible. Through rampant promiscuity, Taylor believes they can finally destroy the institution of marriage.

“I’m so glad the Deep State brought us together,” she says.

“Wait, what?” he asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says. “Tell me how much you love me.”

“I love you more than football,” Travis murmurs in her ear.

“And?” Taylor prompts.

“And America and God.”

Taylor nods. All is going according to her evil feminist and DEI plan. “Soon, everyone else will, too.”