I know I’m beating the already flogged horse (or shall I say giraffe?), writing about our favorite silver-tongued devil pixie—but hear me out.
No, really. Leave her alone.
I was dying to write up something, anything other than Miley’s VMA performance, but everyone is on vacation or has vacation brain or is la-la-la plugging their brains about Syria or Martin Luther King actually existing as more than a street. So what are my options? I know I’m beating the already flogged horse (or shall I say giraffe?), writing about our favorite silver-tongued devil pixie—but hear me out.
So what are we so up in arms about, that her twerking shocked the nation? Really? Eh… not so much. Our nation is so split on so many items that there is no way all of us can be collectively shocked about anything. Miley’s gyrations were about as much good dumb fun as watching someone getting a baseball to the nuts on America’s Funniest Home Videos while eagerly awaiting the caterwauling pit bull after the break.
So leave her alone. Think of the pros of her performance. Miley’s body shows the benefits of exercise; there’s no way her form is all coke and cigarettes and not more than a little bit of work, right? I mean, I thought she had a cute little butt until I saw it compared to chicken, apples, and Hank Hill.
And quite frankly, isn’t that a little rude? I’d like to see 99 percent of you fat fucks prancing out there in a flesh bikini with your butt only wiggling voluntarily. There’s no #1 finger big enough to hide that. So as you sit on the couch with your Wi-Fi and your Spanx, stop laughing.
As for her tongue, yeah, it’s weirdly white, but I’m sure a good acupuncturist could fix that. And heck, I don’t like the way I photograph, so in most photos I’ll make weird faces because I know the photo will be crappy anyway—so I’m sure that’s what she’s doing too, right?
Are the moves classless? Yes. Cringeworthy? Yes. We can go on.
But Miley is what, 20? Think about when you were 20. Maybe you were home from college, rattling to your parents how much more you knew than they did. Maybe you had more than a little too much to drink while hanging out with the wrong person. Listened to angsty music? Burned stinky candles? Pored over navel-gazing poetry?
Think about all kinds of shit you pulled when you thought you had become an adult. And you (hopefully) didn’t even get paid for it.
So in general, I’m not shocked or appalled. It’s more like, You go, Miley.
No, really, Miley. Go. Go somewhere.
It’s time. Lay low for a while. Stop with the selfies. Twerk in your mirror. Alone. Give your undoubtedly overworked social media team a vacation. Lord knows they deserve it.
Carin Moonin is a writer living in Portland, Ore. Sometimes she’ll even tweet about things she hates at @carinwrites.
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