Dear Veenarians,

It is with great sadness and trepidation that we, the greatest investigatively satirical news source in the Canis Major Dwarf Galaxy and Lower Temecula, announce the end of a cruel summer with our untimely separation from Taylor Swift. This August, all parties involved ask the press and our loving fans to respect our privacy during this troubling transition as we learn how to rebuild our lives.

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Oh, we may have spoken too soon. We are just learning that Ms. Swift may have found another beau. Huh… So, she just moved on huh? Just started seeing someone new? Well, okay, that’s fine. We really just want what’s best for Tay-Tay. Though our romance may be over, for now, we know that we’ll always have a special place in her heart. Few people have a heart as tender as our former beloved’s heart. We understand she has to move and we wish her the best, though saline tears may be shed as we remember all the times we enjoyed robbing liquor stores, ATMs, and pimps… but NEVER strippers! Dear, sweet Tay-Sweets was always too classy to steal from a stripper. She drove our favorite getaway car. Now? Our heart swells with lamentations knowing that we’ll never run a Nigerian Prince scam on some rube ever again.

Both parties assure the public that a love like ours is irreplaceable and that it will take years before our hearts will heal enough to get serious. This was, without doubt, our greatest love story. While she may be dating someone new, it will be 22 years–and probably decades more–before either of us will be ready for marriage. In fact…

The story of us is a haunted, blank space where the archer knows all too well of mirrorballs and champagne problems, of delicate willows and the wildest dreams.

Oh you’ve gotta be kidding me! She what?! Oh sure, like we’re supposed to believe that. She got ENGAGED?! That’s just two drams of hogwash and a hoot’s worth of barnswaggle.

Sure, sure. T-Swift and the VNR have been shipped for years and what? Just boom? Engaged? Oh, lemme guess, he’s probably some super slab of prime man-beef, probably a sportser. If we know Taylorino, and we do, he’s probably a curling pro or a pro cricket bowler. She always LOVED watching New Zealand destroy Old Zealand in the World Zealand Cricket Cup. Lol… Ah memories. You know what would really push our buttons though. Oh man, y’know… she’s probably with, like, a successful sportser in football. Ugh, football players are, the, worst. They have muscles and probably shower daily and build strong friendships with their teammates. Ugh! We can’t look. We won’t do it. Nope. No way. T-T, say it ain’t so. Are you guilty as sin?

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Fuck. Well boys, shut it down! Wrap it up, we’re going home! Yup, our cuddly-wuddly safe cracker turned legit! With a ballfooter!! Ugh! She’s changed! I bet she’s getting her maroon-style tear drop and switchblade tattoos removed too!! I knew you were trouble. Don’t blame me, my tears ricochet back to December. Everything has changed now that you don’t dress for the down bad.

You heard it here first! Today, Taylor Swift is a sell out! No more bejeweled brass knuckles, switchblades, poodle skirts, or cigarettes rolled up in her cardigan sleeves with her hair slicked back while we cruise the barren LA River in our souped up coups, trimmed with white walls, rag tops, cigarettes, pomade, and a dime bag of the devil’s weed. We were cool daddy-oh!!! We were the anti-hero!!

But now? You leave la vida loca for a handsome, successful, caring man? You belong with me.

Oh, and lemme guess… Your new man probably has a podcast with his equally successful brother? This is the oldest story in the book: “world’s most popular female pop star leaves intergalactic satirical investigators, that are popular enough in Portugal for hipsters to claim them in ten years, for articulate and tasty loin of sexy man beef who does epic sportsing and has a famous podcast with his brother that people also love and by all accounts they seem like great people.” P’shaw!

We will shake it off, begin again, and use the alchemy to end this exile evermore.

When you’re done being enchanted, we’ll see you at The Alcott. Until then, you’re on your own, kid.