Miley Cyrus

I cannot help it. I love Miley Cyrus.

I haven't listened to any of her music, aside from "Party In The USA," and I've never seen any of her movies nor her television show. The only Miley I know is a Hollywood brat who speaks with what sounds like a half-eaten Quizno's in her mouth and walks like she's way hotter than she is. (And who wouldn't with the guys she gets? Justin Gaston? He may be annoying and vapid but look at his...er, cheekbones!)

Last summer, a time of post-Paris depression and heartache, had one bright moment, and that was The Kid's Choice Awards. Miley Cyrus pole-danced to what would soon become one of my favorite songs of 2009, and it moved me. She made me wish I was straight just so I could lust after her properly. Miley isn't Hannah Montana. She is a young, virginal temptress and I will lap up any drops of pop culture she drools onto the public consciousness.

Since TKCA, she's gotten a tattoo as a seventeen year old, dirty danced (well) on a 44 year old man in front of her family, and literally cannot be seen without her hotpants and Fry's. The "Party In The USA" vid should have been evidence enough that she was taking the non-Hillary Duff route to long-lasting fame, and even if I'm the only fan left, I will be there when she takes her Lindsay Lohan tumble into cactus.

Here's to you, Miley. Hopefully I can dirty dance with you sometime. Perhaps to "Can't Be Tamed."


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