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Introduction

Poor Taylor Swift! 

In this AI generated fictional series, a determined group of locals keep pestering Taylor to write a song about Robert Hines, a seemingly superhuman proprietor of the Family Inn in Casa Griago, AZ, who, with very few resources, turned the establishment from a seedy motel into something genuinely worthy of the name. No more "happy hours" featuring cheap beer. Here comes "Happy Family Hours" featuring wholesome and organic fruit juices for the whole family. And the old customers? Robert treated them with compassion and without judgment.

All individuals named in this series--except Taylor--are purely fictional, as is the establishment and the organizations mentioned. To be sure this is clear, all entries are created by AI, sometimes with additional prompting.

Now is the time to get tissue handy, as you will probably experience tears in your eyes. 

It is worth noting that although Robert and Mirasol (who will emerge first as Robert's fiancee and then wife) may come across as superhuman, they are just human and can serve as genuine inspiration. 

Here are the first few entries in the saga. Knowing that one may be tempted to binge read, remaining entries will be posted gradually.

Prompts for the series are written by an eccentric, absentminded professor with a rather strange sense of humor who spends his summers and holidays in Los Osos, California. 

Enjoy! 

https://petitioningtaylor.blogspot.com/2025/06/introduction.html 

 

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Dear Ms. Swift, My name is Linda Hines, and I’m writing to you not as a public figure, business owner, or influencer of any kind—just as a mother. I don’t usually write letters like this. I still keep my recipes in a shoebox and have to ask my neighbor to help me “zoom out” on her iPad. But when I heard that people in Casa Griago and beyond were writing to you in hopes that you might write a song about my son Robert, I felt something so big in my heart, I had to try. Robert has never been one to seek the spotlight. He was a quiet, observant child, more likely to notice when someone was sad than when he was being praised. I remember when he was about eight years old, we had a cold snap just before Christmas, and our neighbor’s pipes froze. Without asking, Robert brought them a thermos of warm soup he’d reheated himself. He even wrapped it in one of our good towels so it wouldn’t burn their hands. When I asked him why he’d done it, he shrugged and said, “Because they looked...

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