Ellen. You were the last bastion of sanity in an already insane world. How could you do this to us? We know Paris Hilton isn’t a real DJ. Paris Hilton knows Paris Hilton isn’t a real DJ. But you went ahead anyway and gave her an honorific shared by the likes of Daft Punk, Tiesto, and the incomparable Grandmaster Flash. You unwittingly put her in a category shared by people monumentally more talented than her, and it pains us in ways you can’t possibly imagine.
Sure, she knows about CDJs and the Traktor S4 (insofar that they exist on this plane of reality). And yes she has a residency in Ibiza, but that’s no reason to go around spreading these horrible lies. Somewhere out there Afrojack is waking up in a cold sweat knowing he’s at least partially responsible for this nightmarish hellscape you’ve created. All the while you’ve fed into his crippling guilt by giving Paris the coveted “REAL DJ” Stamp of Approval.
We’re not mad at you Ellen. Far from it. Your spirited dancing and willingness to brighten up our televisions one smiling child at a time are some of the things that make this cold world more bearable. But we are deeply saddened by your misguided validation of a “Real DJ” whose latest hook sounds like it was written by Ashlee Simpson’s fired ghostwriter from 2004. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re off to contemplate this betrayal while the refrain from “Pieces of Me” runs on a maddeningly endless loop in the background.
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