we interrupt this regularly scheduled birthday tribute to write an open letter to miley cyrus,
dear miley cyrus, my name is tony,
because i approve of your behavior, sinead o’conner would probably call me “a spunk-spewing dirtbag on the net.” and who’s to say she’s far off the mark.
indeed, i cant say she is wrong in begging you to put some clothes on and stop prostituting yourself to men who buy diamonds for their mistresses off the riches they earn off you, as she claims. i have a y chromosome, what do i know.
but if theres one thing i have learned in my dirtbag life of cruising the “net”, it’s that every year there is a new young lady more than willing to show off her form while singing a little song.
this year you have two little songs that made it big while you slithered around on floor and licked hardware.
your first hit of 2013 was “We Can’t Stop” which came out in the middle of June. 100 days later and the video of you twerking with your friends has been viewed 220,075,031 times.
three weeks ago you released “Wrecking Ball” and it already has 182,658,541 views in part because you were nekkid in it and it was directed by that spunk spewing dirtbag photographer Terry Richardson, who took the picture of you above.
because hes disgusting.
and because you dont know any better (they say).
it also didnt hurt that soon after Wrecking Ball was released you went on the MTV Video Music Awards and bent over for like 5 seconds in front of the fully clothed Robin Thicke which blew more minds than Elvis shaking his hips.
the one bit of warning i heard from your auntie o’conner that i agree with is: make sure you’re getting paid.
the entertainment business, just like most businesses, is a man’s world. there are only three major record companies, and they’re all run by men. but you have something unique that transcends the britneys and xtinas and even mariahs before you:
your daddy somehow parlayed a one-hit wonder song into a family business. he’s no dummy.
even though youre just 20 years old, youve grown up in front of our eyes and your songs are getting better than ever.
unlike what sinead is saying, i think part of your appeal is youre *not* sexy in the way the divas above are. you dont sing like Mimi and Brit… or Beyonce.
you are your own creature. and your crime is you are having fun figuring it all out.
like Ke$ha’s doing.
you’re pissing off all the right people, like Madonna did.
and despite what Sinead says, there are female singers who have been able to be successful And sexy at the same time and one of thems birthday is today and no one ever calls her a prostitute
of all people, gwen stefani would fully agree with you when you perfectly declare “we run things, they don’t run we.”
if auntie o’conner is going to give you some female empowerment, uncle busblogs gonna too.
we need to stop living in a world where young ladies are lectured when they wanna be sexy but young men arent.
it was totally ok for elvis and mick jagger and robert plant and prince to shake their ass and sing about sex when they were 20 or when they were 50 and no one ever said squat.
but madonna wants to hump her wedding dress on tv and everyone has a problem.
he fails but justin bieber tries any way he can to be sexy, from no shirts to stupid hairdos, to ridiculous clothes, to tattoos and yet in all the complaints ive heard about him
never did i hear put a damn shirt on or
you are probably getting ripped off financially.
our entire lives we should be celebrating, exploring, and questioning our physical, spiritual, and artistic capabilities.
and those in power positions who have the means and access to take it even further
should take it even further.
keep moving yr hips like yeah.
im glad gwen stefani has been a lot more than just a girl all these years
while being every bit as feminine as she’s wanted to be.
and i hope miley, you too continue down your funky path despite all the turbulence that comes with super stardom.
as those sexy beasts the grateful dead once said, it’s a long, strange trip
so keep rockin,
you know you’ve made it when you can slowly
take your hand down a rippped virgin mary shirt
over your bare little belly
and beneath your gold belt buckle
and no one sends you any damn open letters,