I hate Meghan Trainor. Yeah, I know, I’ve expressed my derision for various musicians here plenty of times already: Whitesnake, Peter Cetera, Natalie Merchant, etc. But I assure you, this is different. My hatred for this inexplicably popular mediocrity vomiting mound of pachyderm shit is so strong that it almost rises to the level of a disorder. It has physiological qualities that manifest whenever I’m exposed to her voice or image (and usually, horrifyingly, both) in the form of a visceral tightening of my gut with a complimentary dose of debilitating nausea; the way you’ll often feel the need to puke because you just watched someone else puking. And though I mercifully don’t experience this very often since I never (voluntarily) listen to the radio or watch top 20 video countdowns, just knowing that this disgustingly self-satisfied fraud exists at all brings my reservoir of preexisting existential ennui right up to the surface. Do I really want to go on living in a world whose chemical and mineral constituents are capable of combining to create such a disgusting excrescence as Meghan Trainor?
This was originally going to be an extensive post detailing point by point all of this anthropomorphic Cleveland Steamer’s high crimes and misdemeanors. However, while performing a little Google research in preparation for this rant, I came across a brilliant analysis of her sheer hideousness that is far more detailed than anything I could have composed. I suspect that my planned magnum opus would have simply devolved into paragraph after paragraph of increasingly poorly combined vulgarities and while that may have been funny, it would not have been as brilliantly reasoned out and supported by examples as this masterpiece. It’s written by Eliot Glazer, real-life and TV brother to Ilana Glazer of Broad City. In her ghastly and repugnant middle finger to feminism entitled Dear Future Husband, Meghan’s enormous mutant head grows even bigger as she delivers the line, “You gotta know how to treat me like a lady even when I’m acting crazy. Tell me everything’s alright”. Well, thankfully, Eliot refused to abide by her infuriating demand and managed to tell her in excruciating detail exactly why everything she does, says or sings is absolutely NOT alright. Here’s a link to Eliot’s brilliant essay followed by a very satisfying GIF of this fucking jizz-nap falling flat on her ass: