An unhinged theory flying around this country, a silly widdle country, is that the United States government has secretly installed Taylor Swift as a psyop, or a psychological operative. This fringe conspiracy, given legs on all the media platforms one might suspect, posits that the Pentagon has orchestrated a spangly, leotarded plot to win the next presidency for Joe Biden.
If you’ve been living at an off-grid permaculture retreat in Portugal and are missing key facts, here: Swift, the most popular musician in the world, is dating Travis Kelce, who plays for the Kansas City Chiefs, a team in the upcoming Super Bowl. Because she can’t just be a woman with a brain and opinions and a compelling bleed-proof red lipstick attending football games, she must be a tool of The Man.
If the theory goes to plan, the Chiefs will beat the 49ers (rigged) and Kelce will bring Swift on the field rapt in a romantic gesture. The swirl of all-American attention will cue up Swift’s endorsement of Joe Biden, sending fans of both pop music and pigskin screaming to the polls to vote for their favorite rocktogenarian. “As for this conspiracy theory,” Pentagon spokesperson Sabrina Singh replied to increasing chatter, “we are going to shake it off.” This is real! A real quote!
One, I am so pumped for the psyop-themed album Taylor will produce after this. I cannot even tell you. I will camp out for four days to get the limited-edition vinyl.
Two, Swift doesn’t need to “endorse” Joe Biden. The people already know her vote. There is no way Taylor Swift will be rooting for Donald Trump unless the Trump camp steals her and installs a sinister doppelganger. This won’t work either because Swifties will know the real Taylor is missing, the same way parents of multiples can tell their spawn apart at a glance.
Three, sounds bananas! If you want to read the history of real psychological operations, it’s interesting, but these elaborate fantasies aren’t remotely realistic. Am I projecting? Perhaps. I can’t even plan heart-healthy meals three days ahead of time. In the same vein, I never believe the theories that Donald Trump is thinking 12 steps ahead to deliberately lose. I can’t picture the former president partaking in any plot thicker than munching a fistful of Hershey’s miniatures and calling his competitors meatballs and birdbrains.
Fifty-four, I’ve compiled a list of things I’d prefer the government tackle before recruiting Tay and Trav to be covert operatives, though the couple would look cool in all black:
Can we just have health care? Can I get into a new doctor before May 2025? Can I stop having intrusive thoughts like, “If I am bleeding internally, I will just drive myself to save on the ambulance fees, as I probably have a solid 20 minutes until death”?
Can the House of Representatives function for a full year without turning into Monsieur and Madame Thénardier’s sordid inn of ill repute in the town of Montfermeil, riddled with betrayal, debauchery and delightful full-chorus numbers?
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Can the IRS answer the phone? I know you’re not “just seeing this!” 14 days later.
Is there anything Taylor can do about property insurance? She is a friend of Florida, comes here on her concert tours. Can she pop down real quick and psyop the industry into some semblance of control? Can she then turn to auto insurance? I will buy that album as well.
Finally, I was promised Cher Horowitz’s electronic closet from “Clueless” years ago, and I am still waiting. Shouldn’t producing this technology be the responsibility of the United States government? If the winner of the Super Bowl is predetermined by the deep state, I should be able to find my white collarless shirt from Fred Segal.
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