“Just like daddy used to do.” Miley Cyrus has reached the law of diminishing returns with her antics, and what at one point in history may have been noteworthy or at least marginally interesting – Cyrus getting her ass spanked by the Easter Bunny – now seems pedestrian, age-inappropriate, transparent, desperate, and worst of all, boring. A cracked out Cyrus once offered up her asshole to adulterer Robin Thicke on national television, and now she’s in a pastel-hued shoot for Vogue pretending like she still has the ability to shock. Miley. Selena Gomez faked lupus to cover the new kidney she needed after a meth overdose. Allegedly. At least half of your female contemporaries are inside Cara Delevingne at this very moment. The slut ante has been upped my dear.
The twenty-five-year-old trailer park escapee is coming off of a tepidly-received album defined by a career reinvention that promised a subdued, chaste Cyrus content to terrorize Liam Hemsworth on their L.A. commune until the end of time. Not a brilliant move for a whore. It’s like inviting us to a strip club only to find a woman giving a basket weaving demonstration. This sit down with the Easter Bunny is too little, too late, but I do have to say, she’s still got her body. And at the end of the day, as long as she’s still got that, I’d smear her trash face with my Cadbury creme filling. Happy Easter Miley.
Photo Credit: Vogue