Dearest Kesha (I refuse to use a dollar sign for your ‘S’.)

Yes, its true that I dislike you. I think you lack any real talent, and are trying to ride the “eccentric” girl coat tails of Gaga and Katy Perry. However, after recently scrutinizing the lyrics to your song ‘Tick Tock”, I am concerned that your blasé attitude towards your mental health and safety has put you at risk.

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy
(I’m going to stop you right there. Why would a 20-something white girl wake up feeling like a black, male, 40-something music mogal?)

Grab my glasses, I’m out the door. I’m gonna hit this city
(I hope you are on your way to your psychiatrist appointment, because waking up as another person is known as dissociative identity disorder, and that’s nothing to joke around with. I’m also going to go out on an edge and assume you are grabbing sunglasses. Based on the rest of this song, you have real problems with alcohol which, no doubt, leads to never ending hang-overs.)
Before I leave, brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack (I’m sure 3 out of 4 dentists agree there are better ways you can go about cleaning your teeth. At least mix in some floride.)

‘Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t coming back (Freshman year of college, we watched a video that told us we should always alert someone to where we’ll be for the evening. Safety purposes.)

I’m talking pedicure on our toes, toes.
Trying on all our clothes, clothes.
Boys blowing up our phones, phones.
(There you go, talking about yourself in the plural form, which again reinforces my previous notion that you have a psychological condition.)
Drop-topping, playing our favorite CDs

(Don’t be foolish, Kesh. Nobody plays cds anymore. Unless THIS personality is straight up outta the 90s. I hope she’s wearing a baby-doll dress. Those were da bomb diggity.)
Pulling up to the parties
Trying to get a little bit tipsy

(Considering you brushed your teeth with a bottle of Jack, I really do not think you’re in any position to be driving right now.)

Don’t stop, make it pop
DJ, blow my speakers up
Tonight, I’mma fight

‘Til we see the sunlight

(Fact: Alcohol lowers your inhibitions and can make a person more aggressive.  Suppressing anger and not addressing your psychological issues may turn you into a mean drunk.  And nobody likes that guy at a party.)
Tick tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no

Ain’t got a care in world, but got plenty of beer

(Should you be mixing alcohol with all of the medications you are obviously on due to your D.I.D?)
Ain’t got no money in my pocket, but I’m already here

(You’ve spent it all on pedicures and alcohol. Now how are you going to get home? Hopefully, you remembered to save a few bucks for a cab.)
And now, the dudes are lining up cause they hear we got swagger
But we kick ’em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger

(Ahh, I was wondering when your “daddy issues” would surface. It is unnerving to me that a twenty year old girl would want to hang out with a 70 year old man.  You should call Percy from The Green Mile. I hear he likes ‘em young.)

I’m talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk

(I hope you are not mixing coke with alcohol.)
Boys tryin’ to touch my junk, junk

(Did you give them permission? Otherwise, this is considered sexual assault. Stick up for yourself, K!)
Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk


Now, now we go until they kick us out, out

(Again, how are you getting home?)
Or the police shut us down, down

(Oh, so they’re driving you? Excellent.)
Police shut us down, down
Po-po shut us

Don’t stop, make it pop.
DJ, blow my speakers up.

(I don’t think you’re at your place of residence, so you don’t own said speakers.  Since you ‘ain’t got no money’ in your pocket, I would re-think the purposeful destruction of someone else’s property.)
Tonight, I’mma fight
‘Til we see the sunlight
Tick tock on the clock
But the party don’t stop, no

DJ, you build me up
You break me down
My heart, it pounds
Yeah, you got me

With my hands up
You got me now
You got that sound
Yeah, you got me

Now, the party don’t start ’til I walk in


Sweetie, the party has been going on all night.  You arrived ages ago. It concerns me that you don’t remember what seemingly happened hours before.  Maybe you should call your mother, your doctor or another trusted adult so they can get you the help you need.  And – let’s cross our fingers – hopefully, when you work through all your issues, you’ll realize that you’re not quite the lyrical genius you hoped you were and, more importantly, that you really have no business singing and pandering to an audience of pre-teen girls.

Sincerely yours,

Heather Wheeler