In a twist that no one saw coming—except maybe her exes—Taylor Swift's newest album has unleashed what experts are calling a 'global earworm pandemic.' Released at midnight, the record has infected millions, turning ordinary citizens into humming zombies who can't escape the clutches of its infectious choruses. Health officials are scrambling, but instead of masks, they're recommending noise-canceling headphones.

The symptoms are dire: victims report uncontrollable urges to belt out lyrics in public, leading to awkward elevator serenades and grocery store sing-alongs. One afflicted fan in New York confessed, 'I tried to shake it off, but now it's stuck in my head like glitter on a craft project.' Economists predict a 15% drop in global GDP as workers pause mid-meeting to air-guitar their way through the bridge of track seven.

Swift, ever the mastermind, addressed the crisis in a cryptic Instagram post: 'If you're hearing voices in your head, that's just my bridge. You're welcome.' Fans are divided—some hail it as the ultimate power move, while others beg for an antidote album from a less catchy artist, like that one guy who plays the didgeridoo.

Corporations are feeling the heat, with HR departments issuing memos banning impromptu dance breaks. 'Productivity is plummeting,' lamented a CEO from a Fortune 500 company. 'My entire sales team is too busy lip-syncing to close deals.' In response, Swift's team has launched a merchandise line of 'Earworm Emergency Kits,' complete with earplugs shaped like broken hearts.

World leaders aren't immune either. Reports from the UN indicate that diplomats have been caught humming during peace negotiations, derailing talks with spontaneous renditions of 'Anti-Hero.' One ambassador admitted, 'I was negotiating a trade deal, but then the beat dropped in my brain, and suddenly I was voguing instead of voting.'

Medical professionals are baffled, prescribing everything from heavy metal playlists to silent retreats. 'This is worse than the Macarena epidemic of '96,' said Dr. Melody Quack, a specialist in auditory afflictions. 'At least that one had a dance you could learn; this is pure sonic warfare.'

As the pandemic rages on, Swifties are reveling in the chaos, organizing flash mobs in city squares. Critics warn this could be the end of civilization as we know it—or at least the end of quiet coffee shops. One thing's for sure: if you haven't caught it yet, just wait. It's only a matter of time before you're infected too.