Welcome back to the time-honored tradition of watching celebrities make an asses out of themselves on social media. Thank you social media. I hate you social media.
What started out as a clean fight between Onika Tanya Maraj and Taylor Alison Swift spiraled into a clusterfuck of a battle between seven celebrities—of highly varying degrees of fame and relevance.
Fans, let us step into the Heptagon of Celebrity Narcissism and Death and watch these athletes fight it out for absolutely no glory.
Nicki starts things out by going hard in the paint....by herself.
Nicki is playing one-on-one with THE PATRIARCHY and STRUCTURAL RACISM that minimizes the impact of black artists—specifically black women—and continues to uphold whiteness as an ideal. She’s just in the gym knocking in buckets and doesn’t even realize that the stupid distractions that are about to ruin her practice session.
In the second corner of the Heptagon of Celebrity Narcissism and Death we have Taylor Swift, a five foot ten inch willowy blonde whose signature move is making a faux surprised face every time she is met with someone not at all surprising.
Taylor Swift looks at her bank account: “For me? All that money is for lil ‘ol me? All that money just from a-strumming my gui-tar about feminism and men that I knew were emotionally unavailable from the start? Well I’ll be.”
Despite not being announced as part of the starting lineup, Taylor pushes her way to the plate and attempts to kick a field goal, but misses the ball entirely and lands on her ass—which, unfortunately, the anaconda don’t want none of.
Oooh judges, tell us, where did Taylor go wrong?
For starters, she may have the absolute basics down, but Taylor obviously hasn’t been honing her skills and working her intersectional feminism muscles. She’s also forgotten that she’s still wearing her “Me Me Me Me Me” helmet which completely obstructs her view to the rest of the world around her which is not playing Taylor Swift’s weak little game.
Now that Nicki has realized she’s in the game, she’s going for
bad blood. Nicki hit Taylor with old rope-a-dope known as the: “I’m still confused,” maneuver.
This is an elite move used by those who are not the least bit confused. It throws your enemy off—mind jujitsu, if you will—and goads them into responding with something even more inane and clueless.
The other person thinks their adversary is actually confused so they attempt to further explain their point and in doing so, kicks the ball into their own net like a BIG ‘OL GOON.
Wow, people. I’ve never seen anything like this before. Swift seems to be going for an unprecedented level of obtuseness, the likes of which we haven’t seen since the Los Angeles Times referred to a French braid as, “just a large cornrow.”
Now, as much as I’d like to attribute this poor performance to Taylor’s weak-ass training, the blame must lie with her coaching staff in this case. Even Pete Carroll called and said, “Eh, you coulda picked a better play.”
Her publicists, managers, image consultants, agents, personal assistants....NOBODY STOPPED THIS GARBAGE GAME PLAN FROM MOVING FORWARD? Taylor, Taylor Taylor, you are the Tune Squad during halftime reeling from the ass-kicking they just received from the Monstars but unfortunately for you, Mike is all out of his secret stuff.
Nicki floats in with a nice little jab focused not on Taylor, but the larger game plan she has had in mind this entire time. I appreciate Nicki’s effort but the sport has evolved far beyond your sensible serve and volley game.
Entering the ring is a solid player who clearly got lost on his way to the showers.
I dunno, who cares?
AND WE’VE GOT A NEW STAR PLAYER IN THE RING, FOLKS.
The Katy Perry and Taylor Swift rivalry runs deep, so it’s unsurprising that Katy would put on one of her ill-advised football-themed outfits and jump onto the golf course.
Katy bursts in with what should have been a thunderous slam dunk. Instead, some blue hair dye seeps into her eyes, causing her to trip and and accidentally make a layup. She scores, but it sure as hell isn’t pretty.
Nicki’s thumb spasms start flaring up again so she brings in her reserves to fight this round for her by retweeting a stream of positive think pieces and kissy-face emojis.
A fat-headed, melanin-deficient clod named Piers Morgan, who gave up on Harry Potter after the first three chapters because the words were too big, plops his big stupid self into the middle of the ring because he still hasn’t come to terms with the fact that America hates him.
Piers Morgan introduces an article he wrote about the ongoing battle between Taylor and Nicki. I will not link to that silly turkey’s article because fuck him. His brain is made of Gak and nobody cares what he thinks about anything other than where to find the best over-sized hat boutiques.
All you need to know is that in the piece he calls Nicki a “whiney brat” and accuses her of “playing the race card,” because the word “cliche” originates from Piers Morgan’s existence.
Sit your ass down, Piers . THIS IS THE MAJORS BRO AND YOU FORGOT YOUR GOGGLES.
Speaking of white men who need to can it, Ed Sheeran has put on his spandex, strapped that guitar to back and gotten tangled in the ropes as he tries to jump into the field.
In an interview with the Daily Telegraph, Ed offers this incredibly incorrect and highly unhelpful opinion:
“She didn’t nominate herself for the awards. It’s not her fault, she just made some good videos and people think they’re good. And I think the Minaj point is a bit redundant, her point is that you have to be skinny and white to get a video of the year nomination but Beyonce’s 7/11 is in there and that is celebrating the female figure in every form.”
Wow, swing and a big fat miss, Ed Sheeran. Hey Ed: Shut the hell up. That wasn’t even remotely the point Nicki was trying to make you, annoying troll. And don’t think that bringing up Beyoncé is going to save you.
Rude opinion: Deport Ed Sheeran.
Honestly, I think the kid is using performance-enhancing drugs that are having the opposite effect and making his brain melt out of his ears which he then collects in a bowl at night and drinks again in the morning in an attempt to keep his mushy, garbage ideas inside of his skull but OBVIOUSLY THAT’S NOT WORKING.
After multiple lacerations and an extended huddle with her overpaid image consultant, Taylor Swift is finally ready to admit defeat.
Unfortunately, Taylor thinks she lost by a negative ruling from the court of public opinion when, in fact, she just punched herself in the face and caused a self-knockout.
A young upstart named Kreayshawn, who could have been a contender if she was actually able to rap or had gotten in T.I.’s good graces, rolls her equipment out onto the court not realizing that the match has basically already been called.
Kreayshawn, girl, I guess.
Piers Morgan, who was ignored as a child and now uses Twitter to fill that void, is going down swinging like the big-ass baby that he is.
UM PIERS, YOU WANNA TUSSLE WITH THE AMERICANS YOU BETTER STARTING SPELLING SHIT OUR WAY.
I have to say, I’m a bit disappointed with how the game ended. Nicki, in the final seconds, decides to nix the heat and throw Taylor some softballs instead. I know it’s probably for the best, but you hate so see such a promising player not spread her wings.
Overall, the match of course goes to Nicki. Literally everyone else is a big loser who needs to have their Twitter login information kept away from them by a sensible adult. Nicki’s final strategy was to keep things cute—seemingly because she actually likes Taylor and/or because she doesn’t want to play into the “angry black woman” stereotype she’s already been branded with.
Not exactly the victory I hoped for, but I’ll take it.
The actual winner, as always, is Beyoncé, who has been swimming around with Blue Ivy this entire time.
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Image by Bobby Finger.