Miley Cyrus is apparently having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that she is Miley Cyrus. For anyone over thirty, this would be the thickly veneered daughter of country music hack Billy Ray Cyrus, an ass clown who had a novelty hit popular in bars where people fuck their cousins. First, if the Keystone is flowing.
Billy Ray’s sociopathy wasn’t relegated strictly to his music, as he and his beard considered all of their children to be a potential meal ticket. Beats managing the Walmart. Think of them as the Kardashians, except they mostly failed. Still, one kid can pay the mortgage. Still unclear how you get heavily tatted at age 12 without a waiver.
In a recent interview Miley explained how that cringe worthy six month period where she was grinding her chicken thigh ass all over anything that hinted of male pheromones was a minor act of rebellion, since she didn’t have a normal childhood. She would have been fucked up if this poor man’s Fabio didn’t whore her out, as it stands she seems remarkably well adapted:
“I didn’t get a school escape like most people. I went to work with my dad… That was really hard, every day from like 11 to 18… And then I started driving my dad towards the end because I could start driving, and then my grandma went with me.”
School Escape isn’t a term in the english lexicon. Robot crash, reboot. It’s becoming increasingly clear that Billy Ray Cyrus diddled his daughter. There’s a finite amount of magazine covers, we’ll save that one for when you’re older.
This marks the heavily contrived point in Miley Cyrus’ career, taken directly from Madonna’s wiki page, where she expresses some sort of personal turmoil in some shitty music she didn’t write. When’s the next award show, she just locked down seven of them. Look for some boxy jeans. It’s so difficult being a tortured artist when you aren’t an artist. Luckily the tattoos explain everything in illegible font.
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