A secretive, longstanding debt at last repaid to a childhood friend?
The bile-twinged fruits of an ignoble pact with the Prince of Lies himself?
The product of a morally-defunct skin video that has fallen in sinister, blackmailing hands?
Any of the above could explain how a certain hell-spawned record deal came to fruition.
And the barefaced lack of talent, charisma or basic human grooming demonstrated by the pasty witch that answers to Ke$ha--and makes Rihanna sound like an in her prime Aretha Franklin--demands a contrite confession. The time for such an accounting is nigh.
The blood dripping from our collective eardrums is on your hands, Dr. Luke. Make this right before your craven blonde Succubus maims again.