If she was in to me, I would definitely be the reason for the teardrops on her guitar.

Taylor Swift's songs invade my eardrums today more than ever. She has another brand new love song that makes its rounds about every 40 minutes on the pop radio stations.

Thing is, I don't get it. I just don't get it.



See the parallel? I do. She can get expert stylings all she wants; when she comes home at the end of the night, it's going to be blonde Ms. Frizzle all up in my business. I mean, if she can't keep it under control to receive an award on TV, there's no saving it behind closed doors. 

Everyone thinks it's adorable that she plays a guitar; I get it – most girls are at home watching Jersey Shore, and little 'ol Taylor is at home picking. Well, she isn't that good. She is not even Danica Patrick good. No, If Taylor was a Nascar driver, trying to hold her own among seasoned professionals, she would make it about a lap before having a panic attack. 

This Just In Rock Band: Taylor Swift Edition is coming out soon…they expect it to be the least challenging and poorest selling edition of the franchise thus far. It will hit shelves on Valentine's Day, 2011.

I refuse to do this. I can't date girls who are too girly – it makes me sick. And to date a girl who writes nothing but nauseating love songs for a living would be legitimately like hell for a lot of men. You know that Twilight Zone episode where the guy finds himself in the most miserable experience he could ever have on earth, which turns out to be his own, personal hell? That's me dating Taylor.

Imagine the pressure you'd be under as her boyfriend, knowing that your girlfriend is upstairs banging out songs about how her man is prince charming and would never leave her, brings her roses and would fight a dragon with a copper butter knife just for the chance to smile at her. Woah. 

You'd have to bring flowers home every time you went to the store. You'd have to lay down fresh rose petals from the finest fields in France everytime you wanted to take her to bed. Birthdays, Christmas, and Valentine's Day would all likely have to be super-bowl worthy spectacles, all of which would have to be outdone the following year. Spelling "I Love You" in her morning bowl of Alpha-bits would be mandatory. 

Sure, we all like to do things to show our loved ones affection; it feels good and we do it to make them happy. But you just can't please a girl with such fantasyland needs.


There would be a NOW – Greatest Tragic Love Songs Edition for all of the crap she would produce as a result of our relationship. I don't need to be Radio-Broadcast every time she yells at me for leaving the toilet seat up, then subsequently starts crying because she heard me call her a "nagging Ms. Frizzle" Under my breath.