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DB Lampoon: Blonde Bashing!

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Would you risk smoke from the Swifties by saying mean things about their idol? Peter Sherwood says his uncle does – he’s fearless

My uncle Bill in outback Australia is a fan of America’s Got Talent and watches old reruns while hallucinating (without magic mushrooms) to complement his Nobel Prize-winning delusions. He thinks he’s a judge on the show and Taylor Swift is a contestant.

It goes like this: What’s your name, dear? “Taylor.” Seriously? Your family in the clothing business? “It’s Taylor with a ‘y.’” Do you have a surname, Trailer? “It’s Taylor, and yes, it’s Swift.” I don’t care how fast it is. The only Swift I know is Jonathan. Where do you live, kid? “Tennessee.” Bourbon and banjos. You play the banjo? “No, guitar. I write songs and I sing. I want to be a superstar.”

Hey, Trainer, get real. You’ll have to change your name, no one will remember Trailer Quick; how about Dorothy Cowpat, that’s got a good countr y ring to it. And you’ve never heard of Gulliver’s Travels? “Can’t I just sing you a song I wrote?” OK, but who are all the blokes behind you dressed as disco queens? They look like gangsters in tights. “My back-up dancers; it’s for a video.” Whatever, get on with it. And what’s with the star-spangled swimsuit? This is not America’s Got Half Naked Talent.

What’s the song? “It’s called Love Story. [She sings.] “Little did I know that you were Romeo, you were throwing pebbles, and my daddy said, ‘Stay away from Juliet.’” I gotta tell ya, Trainer… “It’s Taylor!” [She sobs.] I’m not about to jump on the golden buzzer, kiddo, that was rubbish. If Pavarotti wasn’t so fat he’d spin in his grave. “Oh please!” [Loud blubbering.] And talk about plagiarism. The Shakespeare family will be on the phone to their lawyers.

But I’m nothing if not forgiving. Sing one more of your “original” songs. [She sings Out of the Woods.] Good grief, Trader, you must be kidding! You call these lyrics? Take the chorus: ‘Are we out of the woods yet?’ repeated nine times. ‘Are we in the clear yet?’ Six times. ‘In the clear yet?’ Just twice, whoopee! ‘Good,’ also twice – and more than enough. This is lyrical hiccoughs. Maybe record it to sell to insomniacs. “But everyone [wailing] likes my original songs.” Then they must have coal dust in their ears.

My advice, blossom, get a cleaning job at the Grand Ole Opry, and work your way up. And dump the chorus line. [Screaming, she leaps from the stage and lands on her head.] There yer go, too sensitive and easily offended for show business. Swiftie, gotta learn to shake it off!


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