Dear Taylor Swift, please stop talking. Like now.
It's bad enough we're forced to listen to you try and convince us that you're not as immature and naive as you think we think you are.
Most of us aren't even thinking about you at all.
Or were trying not to.
Until you started blowing up our Facebook feeds with the crap you somehow convinced Vanity Fair to pass off as an interview.
Look, I like your music. You're cute. I also think Anne Hathaway is cute and I really like her acting. That doesn't mean I want a three-page spread of Anne Hathaway's self-absorbed inner monologue. And the same applies to you. Share yourself through your music. It's far more enjoyable than your actual spoken words.
And don't go after Tina Fey and Amy Poehler for poking fun at you during the Golden Globes. Send them a thank you letter. When not one, but two of the funniest women in the country work you into a bit, you get on your knees and thank God that somebody thinks you're worth their genius.
Besides, it won't last forever. There will come a day when you'll cease being relevant and you'll fade into obscurity, like Tiffany, Debbie Gibson and every other pop performer, save Madonna and Cher.
It's a cruel world for pop stars, Taylor. It really, really is. Minus all the money and the fame and the ability to buy homes across the street from the boy you're dating. So cruel.
Stop your carping, Taylor, and go make me some music.