Monday, August 26, 2013

An Open Letter to Miley Cyrus

Dear Miley,

Just the other day I wrote about my distaste for twerking, then last night you rubbed your ass on the crotch of Robin Thicke's Beetlejuice-inspired pants, and the entire internet exploded.

This may mean I have my finger on the pulse of what's happening, but probably not.

Either way I think you should probably listen to me, because well, what do you have to lose? This photo is already a very real thing.

So, what in the hell was all that about, Miley?

Seriously, did Kanye pay you off because he was sick of hearing about the Taylor Swift thing? That's the only possibility that makes sense. I mean, I know you love to twerk and obviously you hate your father. But sweetheart, last night you wore a condom and danced with furries.

Don't get me wrong anyone who has been a 20-year-old girl has done dumbass stuff for attention. I had a tongue ring and pretended to like girls, but you masturbated with a giant foam finger. Allie: 0, Miley:1.

Jesus, just look how uncomfortable you made wheelchair Jimmy Drake.

I know everyone is kinda coming down on you pretty hard, but we just don't want you to watch you go down the path of so many child stars turned raging lunatics.

Do you really want to end up like Amanda Bynes ... or worse, Danny Bonaduce?

Do you want your future to consist of Education Connect commercials and a stint on Dancing with the Stars? 

No? Then cut it the fuck out!

We get it. You're not Hannah Montana anymore. You have a vagina, a shit ton of Ecstasy, and some very strange fetishes, but that doesn't mean you have to battle Gene Simmons for the Most Overexposed Tongue award. Seriously, put it back in your mouth. It freaks me out.

I'm only going to say this once so listen up, kiddo.

You owe us better than this. 

Just because you're not a role model for pre-teens anymore, doesn't mean you still don't have eyes on you.

You're a woman. And unfortunately that means not everyone believes you are equal. And you're going to have a hard enough time garnering respect without making yourself a caricature. The whore. The barely-dressed teen. The girl who's only good for making a dick hard. It's a cop out.

You are more than that, because we are all more than that. And the sooner you figure that out, the sooner you will have to stop trying to prove you're not Hannah Montana. It'll be clear that you're a woman. 

So, get your shit together, girl. For all of us.

And please, for the love of God, burn whatever you were wearing last night.

Best wishes,

Your Barista

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