The Near-Future Dystopia in Which Everything Is Taylor Swift

I awake to the tune of Taylor Swift’s Anti-hero playing on my Taylor Swift-themed radio alarm clock. I get out of bed as the DJ, who is Taylor Swift, announces that today is Taylor Swift day on Taylor Swift Radio, as it was yesterday, and they will be playing nothing but Taylor Swift for the whole day.

I brush my teeth using my Taylor Swift-shaped toothbrush and my Taylor Swift toothpaste makes my breath smell like Taylor Swift’s breath.

I come downstairs and kiss my wife, Taylor Swift, and ruffle the hair of my son, Taylor Swift. I call out to Taylor Swift, my teenage daughter, to get out of bed and get ready to go to Taylor Swift High where she is studying Taylor Swift.

After a hearty bowl of Taylor Swiftios topped off with Taylor Swift’s milk, I’m ready to face the day. I walk to work at the vinyl plant where we press over 300 slightly different versions of Taylor Swift’s new album every day. As I walk I hum the national anthem: “Daylight,” by Taylor Swift. I tread in some dog poop that has been curled out into the shape of Taylor Swift’s face and so I shake it off.

My line manager, Taylor Swift, is waiting for me. She is worried. Taylor Swift is visiting the factory today, and the concern is that we don’t have enough Taylor Swift memorabilia on display. I call some of my contacts in the Taylor Swift collectibles industry and secure a Taylor Swift box of potatoes, a Taylor Swift tube of fungal infection ointment and a Taylor Swift 747 Commercial Jet.

I also book Taylor Swift, the town’s leading Taylor Swift impersonator, to play a set of Taylor Swift’s greatest hits during Taylor Swift’s visit.

My colleagues and I then get changed into our Taylor Swift costumes and form a seething mass of hysteria to greet Taylor Swift as arrives. When she enters the factory, Taylor Swift glances at me. I sob uncontrollably for an hour and so miss the rest of her visit, but am pleased to learn that she was impressed with the factory’s work, and commented favourably on my Taylor Swift box of potatoes.

I walk home past the Taylor Swift Punishment Square where several people are being stoned to death for liking Beyoncé. I linger for a minute and am unable to contain my rage at this despicable filth who would like Beyoncé when we have Taylor Swift. I join in the stoning, screaming the lyrics to “I Knew You Were Trouble” as I do so.

When I arrive home, my family and I listen to the latest Taylor Swift album. A masterpiece. Her greatest yet. One song mentions cheese so we all head to our local cheese shop, Taylor Swift’s Cheese Emporium, to buy some cheese. We are disappointed to find they’ve completely sold out of cheese except for a small crumb of Taylor Swift Blue which now costs $58,000. We all vow to work harder and save until we can afford it.

Back home again for a hearty meal of Taylor Swift Hamburgers and Taylor Swift fries followed by a bowl of Taylor-Swift-flavoured ice cream. We all settle down to watch Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour on the Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour streaming service, with the exception of my daughter who rolls her eyes and goes to listen to Folklore in her room. Teenagers, eh?

Before long, it’s bedtime and we head off to bed to sleep and dream of Taylor Swift, but not before offering a prayer to Taylor Swift to give thanks for Taylor Swift.

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