I want to kick Miley Cyrus's booty-shorted ass!
And this has nothing to do with her ignorant diarrhea of the mouth over Radiohead. (I just had to look up the spelling of diarrhea. I pride myself on my fierce spelling skills but I had no clue how to spell diarrhea. It's not a word I like to use much.)
Now don't get me wrong, I do hate her for expecting Radiohead to fawn all over her when she tried to summon them to her Hannah Montana side. And If you haven't spent all your time, reading my lengthy diatribe on her assbag behavior, I'll sum it up for you.
She was at the Grammy's. Why? I am not sure. The Grammy's are for musical artists and I do not consider what she does, art or music, so...
Anyway, she was at the Grammy's as was Thom Yorke and his brilliant band, Radiohead. Now, if the assbag knew anything about Radiohead like the poser Radiohead fan she pretends to be, she would have known it was an absolute coup to even get Radiohead to the Grammy's. Thom Yorke is infamously shy and the band stays away from awards shows and anything that has to do with celebrity's kissing each other's asses, as celebrities are wont to do every chance they can get.
When Miley heard they were there, she just, like had to, seriously, like so meet them because like she would cry for Radiohead. Her words. Trust me, not mine. She sent her minions over to Radiohead to inform the band that Miss Miley Cyrus wanted to meet them.
But, I could feel it coming.
It was there in the subtle little something I caught during her performance on American Idol a little while after the photo debacle and I thought, "Here we go."
She was singing her ultra-moronic song, "The Climb" (sorry for all you who love the song, but she's just such an ass and those lyrics are just straight up Cheeto cheesy) and she's up there bleating singing her bubble gum, rainbows and kitties song and in the midst of this pop ditty, she starts head banging.
That's right, head banging, like Angus Young from ACDC's kind of head banging, except on her, it just looked awkward, as if a roach had flown into her pretty little updo and she was trying to flick it out.
After she was done head-banging, you know really feelin' her hard rockin' song, she baaaed sang the rest of the song through her hair, like she was now officially Miss Bad Ass Rocker Girl who Head Bangs to Pop Ditties.
My girls found her awkward, head banging hysterical. I knew it was a clanging gong, a warning of what was coming. A restless statement from a girl who no longer considered herself the princess of Disney Pop, her declaration that she was now legitimate.
I don't even know where to begin on this one. Let's see, I'll start with her age.
I know about hormones and girls who chomp at the bit, ready to leap into womanhood and leave little girldom behind and I definitely, definitely know about young ladies who try to prove their womanliness by trying to dress more sophisticated than they should.
I have one of those in my house. She will remain nameless, but suffice to say, I have spent many an hour arguing with her and she has spent many, many a tear-filled moment going back to her closet and refiguring her outfit because she was not going to be allowed out of the house in any of the outfits she thought were "fine" and I found to be a, "No freakin way!"
Cause that's my job. I'm the parent not the pimp. Ahem, Mr. Achy-Breaky.
Now, I know it must be tough, having to grow up in the spotlight. And I know that teenagers can be insufferable and ridiculous and obnoxious and all of Miley's best qualities, but with the spoils of fame comes the responsibility to do the right thing. And as someone who has made her millions off the hearts and minds of little girls in love with Hannah Montana, she has the duty to act like the wholesome young lady that Disney created for her, launching her into superstardom thanks to the adulation of little girls.