Dear Ms. Jepsen,

Congratulations on writing a wildly popular song – number 2 on the U.S billboard charts! You now exist among the ranks of Led Zeppelin, John Lennon, Eric Clapton, Prince, Madonna – it’s impressive really, and it must be gratifying to look at your success from this perspective. Lest you lose your humility and sense of self, do take note of the fact that you also exist among the ranks of Nickelback, The Pussycat Dolls, Hoobastank and Ja Rule. Regardless of how you look at it, your new hit single will bring you a ridiculous amount of money and exposure – two things necessary for any artist to spread whatever message their art intends. Such exposure, unfortunately, comes with a lot of responsibility. Your music will shape the behavior of millions of impressionable young people, influencing everything from the persona they attempt to assume to their shopping purchases and even their world view. It is imperative that you take this responsibility very seriously. I give to you my own humble analysis of your latest chart-climber, and I ask that you consider it when writing future material. Call me old fashioned, but things should make sense. Ever heard of coherence? Please, think of the messages you’re ramming into the maleable skulls of our youth.

I threw a wish in the well,

You aren’t supposed to throw the wish into the well, dear. That’s not how it works. Like everything else, money is required in order for the wish to be fulfilled, and even then you’re better off putting in a little work than tossing some dimes into reclaimed waste water.

Don’t ask me, I’ll never tell

You threw it into a fucking well. Why would we need to ask? You’ve already lost any chance at secrecy when you tossed your dreams into a publicly visible place.

I looked to you as it fell,

and now you’re in my way

I’m in your way? Fuck you, you’re in my way, holding up the line without any clue how to use the stupid well, while we’re all waiting to waste our loose change on frivolous desires that won’t ever be fulfilled – at least not by a well – and you have the nerve to suggest I’m in your way? You’re doing it wrong – why don’t you get the fuck out of my way and let someone who understands how the well works have a fucking turn.

I trade my soul for a wish,

Don’t ever trade your soul for something you’ve tossed carelessly into tepid water near a Nordstrom’s.

pennies and dimes for a kiss

Awfully frugal for a pop star, aren’t we? I can’t imagine anyone would charge you, so save your pennies and dimes for the day you figure out how wishing wells work.

I wasn’t looking for this,

but now you’re in my way

Christ’s sake, go around!!!!

Your stare was holdin’, Ripped jeans, skin was showin’

Hot night, wind was blowin’

Where you think you’re going, baby?

Where am I going? I’m trying to get the fuck out of your way! You’ve already established more than once that my presence is a nuissance. And if you must know, I’m very self-conscious about the shabbiness of my jeans. Not all of us can afford to buy them pre-ripped and stain-free, so now I have to go home and turn them into shorts to spare myself from comments like yours.

Hey, I just met you,

and this is crazy,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

Carly, I’m not sure you’re familiar with how dating works. This isn’t really all that crazy. At all. You see, people who know each other had to meet at some point, and before said meeting they couldn’t have known each other. There are exceptions – I knew my mother before we were formally introduced because I was trapped for months in her vagina vault, and I knew my father on similar grounds – i.e he was the sole depositor to the aforementioned vault. Excluding immediate family, this is how we meet people: determine their worth, offer some means of further communication, and hope they value your worth similarly. The entire premise of this song is based on the courage of going through with this “crazy” act, but it’s not crazy at all because it represents fairly mainstream human interaction. It would be much crazier to say something like:

Hey, I just met you

And this is crazy

But here’s my 5 month old limbless baby

Raise it, maybe?

It’s hard to look right,

at you baby,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

What, because of my jeans? Here’s a tip: drop the maybe. You come across as soft. Be more direct. Would you show that kind of weakness in a job interview? “Yes, sir, I appreciate the opportunity to interview and hope I’m selected for the position. Call me, maybe?”

Hey, I just met you,

and this is crazy,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

And all the other boys,

try to chase me,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

Now there’s the assertiveness we’re looking for! Yes, all the other boys chase you, so I better get in while the going is good. Before I take your number, can you please provide a breakdown of the success/fail ratio of these “other boys?” I’m not the type to require that I walk on hallowed ground, but I do typically prefer to partner up with ground that’s somewhere between hallowed and heavily trampled.

You took your time with the call,

I took no time with the fall

You gave me nothing at all,

but still, you’re in my way

Why would I call you if I’m still in your way? I’m standing only a few fucking feet from you. Besides, I have nothing left to give. I lost all my money using the wishing well properly.

I beg, and borrow and steal

At first sight and it’s real

I didn’t know I would feel it,

but it’s in my way

In general, it is important to develop some sort of rapport with someone before you beg for or borrow anything. Stealing is always inappropriate, and I suggest you resolve some of these issues before you judge my clothing, and certainly before you ask me to call you.

Your stare was holdin’, Ripped jeans, skin was showin’

Hot night, wind was blowin’

Where you think you’re going, baby?

Seriously, would you like to buy me a new pair of jeans? If not, please refrain from commenting on their condition.

Hey, I just met you,

and this is crazy,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

It’s hard to look right,

at you baby,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

Hey, I just met you,

and this is crazy,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

And all the other boys,

try to chase me,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

Hey, I just listened to your song,

and this is crazy,

but you don’t need to incessantly repeat your chorus,

Variety, maybe?

Before you came into my life

I missed you so bad

I missed you so bad

I missed you so, so bad

Before you came into my life

I missed you so bad

And you should know that

I missed you so, so bad

Why should I know that? According to you, we just met. Here is a list of the things I currently know about you:

1) You have no fucking clue how to use a wishing well.

2) You’re overly observant regarding the state of my wardrobe.

3) You may or may not want me to call you.

That’s it. How the fuck am I supposed to know that you missed me before I “came into your life?” I suppose I now know you have a flawed understanding of reincarnation at best, and a mild case of mental illness at worst.

It’s hard to look right,

at you baby,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

Hey, I just met you,

and this is crazy,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

And all the other boys,

try to chase me,

but here’s my number,

so call me, maybe?

MOOOOOORE CHORUS! How did you know I wanted to listen to the same copy/paste portion of your song again?

Before you came into my life

I missed you so bad

I missed you so bad

I missed you so so bad

Before you came into my life

I missed you so bad

And you should know that

So call me, maybe?

I retract my previous criticism – “maybe” is wholly appropriate here. From what you’ve shown me of yourself, I’m glad I have an option.

Carly – I feel like I can call you Carly now – do you understand my frustration? Just the other day I witnessed a young girl on the verge of suicide because she couldn’t figure out how to throw something as abstract as a wish into a small pool of water. Young men everywhere are suffering unnecessary and unwanted attention just because they can’t afford new jeans! Young women everywhere have had their zeal for begging, borrowing and stealing reinforced. Your status affords you the opportunity both to heighten our cultural discourse and to lead it to implosion. I implore you to choose the former. Use the success you’ve gained from vomiting glittery pop drivel to do what The Beatles did after they finished chucking – make better art. People are talking about you. Give them some cooler shit to say. I have some ideas. Call me, maybe?

Your Friend,

Ignorant Dick on the Internet