whatever, this would never happen to gaga.

Dear Taylor Swift,

I really hope you didn’t whip off your purity ring as well as all your clothes for one John Mayer, like they are speculating over on Jezebel. That seems like bad decision-making of catastrophic proportions, even for someone as categorically insipid as you. At the very least, I hope he didn’t give you gonorrhea. You have my pity, and I wish you better sense in your future romantic endeavors.

Dear John Mayer,

I don’t know how long I can keep defending you, sir. I’m like that lady at Obama’s town meeting. What am I supposed to tell people now? It’s like you defiled Funshine Bear. And yes, all she  had to do was glance at a single back issue of US Weekly to see that you’re not the type to drop to the ground, pull out a ring, and say marry me, Juliet; still, you and I both know she’s not the kind of girl to do her research. Poor form, JM. Poor form.