I’m Really Glad I Don’t Live with Ke$ha

March 27, 2011

Sweet, sweet Freddie. What have you done?

Dear World,

I don’t know what it was or how I missed it, but something terrible happened to you, possibly while I was asleep or in the shower. Somehow (and I blame Prince), it became acceptable to use a symbol instead of a name. At some point (and this is entirely Cher’s fault), audiences decided they’d prefer to hear robots singing. Somewhere along the line (and this is all on David Bowie and Freddie Mercury– even my undying devotion to glam rock can’t absolve them) we, as concert goers, came to expect our performers to wear more glitter than an exotic dancer at a club named Twinkle Town. So it’s time for a sit-down chat, World.

It’s about Ke$ha.

I know you like her. You must. If you didn’t, there’s no way her song We R Who We R would have debuted at number one on the charts. But here’s the thing, World. She is awful, and you have to stop. Her 15 minutes of fame should have been up about 30 seconds in. This is an intervention, World. You have a problem, and I’m trying to help you see how awful she is. Of course, I’ll be doing it with a list.

***

As a Resident Assistant, all I can think about when I see Ke$ha is how happy I am she doesn’t live in my building, because I can imagine the calls I’d be getting all year long. Well, maybe not all year long. I imagine she’d be kicked out of campus housing by October.

Ke$ha is an RA’s Nightmare

Call #1: Before the residents move in for the semester, you make name tags for everyone’s door. When Ke$ha shows up, she changes the ‘s’ in her name to a dollar symbol and later writes down phrases like “We R who we R” and “C U next Tuesday”. You worry she’s semi-illiterate, so you plan a program to teach people how to read. She doesn’t come, of course, because she’s at a party.

Call #2: Conversations with Ke$ha leave you suspicious that someone is constantly putting roofies in her drinks. This results in you following her for a week, trying to protect her from the mysterious drugger. When you can’t find one and she continues to talk that way, you make a bulletin board about the dangers of date rape. You write it using very small words, hoping she can understand.

Call #3: People in the hallway have been complaining about Ke$ha’s hygiene. You’ve noticed it doesn’t look like she’s bathed for days and she’s always covered in dirt, feathers, or Day-Glo, but now you really have to do something. When you sit her down for an awkward talk about how to use soap like a real person, you notice she doesn’t even have a toothbrush– just a bottle of Jack.

Call #4: Because it’s a dry campus, you have to write her up for the aforementioned bottle. She doesn’t show up to Conduct Board, even after you auto tune yourself requesting her presence.

Don’t even get me started on drug use.

Call #5: Ke$ha’s neighbor calls, freaking out because when he went in to take a shower, Ke$ha was passed out in the tub. You call 911, and they don’t do anything because this is the third time that week they’ve been called about her behavior. Dispatch reassures you that she’ll snap out of it. You make a note to talk to her about alcoholism, but the brochure you pick up for her has words that are more than one syllable and you’re not sure she’ll be able to read them.

Call #6: Ke$ha’s bathroom floods at 3 in the morning. She’s not home, but you help her roommate move their stuff to a safe place, noting that her clothes seem to consist entirely of fringe and body stockings. While on the phone with maintenance, you wade into the bathroom to try to stop the still-running toilet. The plumber who woke up and drove 20 miles to help gets incredibly angry when it becomes clear the pipes are clogged with glitter. You continue to find glitter on everything you own for the next week, and you throw out the clothes you were wearing that night because they make you look like a disco ball.

Call #7: Ke$ha’s roommate calls, complaining that Ke$ha is always out partying, and when she’s home, she has a different bearded man stay over every night. You write her up for cohabitation and have a chat with her about STDs, excessive partying, and the overall grossness of male hipsters. She looks you dead in the eye and says something. When you finally make out her slurred words, you realize she’s saying she “liked his beard”. You write her up again for intoxication and you’re not surprised that she’s gone within a week.

***

If you insist on listening to Ke$ha, World, I have one last tip for you. My friend Adrienne invented a wonderful thing. It’s called The Ke$ha Game and the idea is to say as many lines from Ke$ha songs as you can without laughing. They’re all ridiculous, and said out of context they’re even more so, but some are worse than others. The one that makes me lose it every time is the “I like your beard” thing I touched on previously (if you don’t know the line you can see it at the end of this music video… but I suggest you don’t), but another good one is “ain’t got no care in the world but got plenty of beer”, which is both a double-negative and a worrying sign of alcoholism.

Seriously, World. This person is making millions of dollars and I have no idea why. I’m begging you, as someone with ears, to stop the madness.

Love,

Stephanie

Written by Listful Thinking Posted in Too Silly Tagged with Humor, Ke$ha, Kesha, list, Music, roommate