A Tale Of Twitter And Ice

Game Of Pop Thrones

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A Tale Of Twitter And Ice

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Taylor Swift sat barefoot on her throne. The castle was quiet now, the shrieks of torture long silenced. She held the skull in her hand and contemplated the long journey that had taken her to this point. Outside, her army waited, their bellies growling for more conquest. 

The man stumbled through the streets, death and carnage very visible on every corner. Nobody had bothered to move the bodies. They just rotted away in the streets. Miley of the Cyrus had called it a “Nashville Party” and Swift had given her that. And more. 

The legends were in fact true. The Beyhive was designed in the shape of a bee hive, but scaled up hundreds of thousands of times. It dominated the skyline, gleaming gold towers reflecting sunlight that everyone could see. And in the bowels was The Queen, slaying. 

Like all the other soldiers in the Kanyecorps, the young man wore a suit of armor emblazoned with the smiling image of his messiah. He had long since abandoned independent thought. He was part of a collective, a gathering, pursuing a holy crusade to cleanse the lands of infidels. 

Miley punched the man who led her army and his nose exploded in a crimson shower. He did not say a word. This was his penance and he accepted it. He had no choice. She turned away and gave her attention to the map.

"Now, give me a plan that can win," she snarled. 

Rihanna lazily waved away the band before they could welcome her to the throne room. They looked to Beyonce and she quickly nodded and gave her assent for their exit. It was a violation of protocol to skip the traditional 17-hour greeting but time was of the essence. 

The cleric walked in and immediately fell to his knees. Taylor smiled because this never got old. She had conquered one land after another, and every act of subjugation was as thrilling as the first time, years ago. Nonetheless, his parish would burn, as would half the villages. 

"Sing it again," Kim Kardashian ordered. The bard's fingers were bloody, his voice reduced to a whisper from hours and hours of singing on end. The great hall was packed with people standing before their queen. Many had fallen to the ground from exhaustion. "Again," she said. 

The Captain's instincts told him this would not work, but his nose still throbbed and he could taste his own blood in his mouth. Miley did not want to hear naysaying. Revenge flowed freely through her blood and the defeat gnawed at her soul. "We attack here," he said. 

Kanye threw the holy book across the hall and it landed on the cobblestone floor with a thud that echoed along the cavernous walls.

"You didn't capture my words, my genius, my essence!" he screamed. This was the 2,972nd attempt. They would try again. Try to capture Kanyeism. 

—30—

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