“N-nani.... What did you say Gyllenhaal-senpai? Break... break up?” Taylor laughed, a gay laugh, one that screamed desperation and too much vodka. “I don’t get dumped Jake-san!!” She took a few steps closer, Jake, from his position on the floor, could just see her panties just like in the animes, and it made him think of his body pillow, Haruka-chan. ‘Dayum girlfriend,” thought Jake in a stereotypical flamboyant male high school homosexual drama-club-member voice, he opened his mouth to breathe in her trademark perfume, Yaoi-kun and the alcohol and sweat, but before he could get a good mouthful, she interrupted him: with a knife to the throat. When did she get that!? thought her now technically ex-boyfriend. But before he could speak, his throat had been slit, and Taylor was under his neck lapping at his blood like a cute scottish terrier during the holidays in a sweater. She had completed it, the sacrifice. Now she could summon a piece of Beyonce’s soul into her. She could feel it, her boom-da-boom-da-bass.... increasing. Was this the power of Beyonce....... BOOM! Smoke filled the apartment, blood painted the walls in “[lyrics from Red”].... Beyonce stood in the doorway. Ms. Swift had been a fool. She couldn’t handle such raw compacted energy. Shame on her. Shame on her cow.

Happy Birthday Kury!!!!!