Dear Miley,
I have a confession to make. I know way more about you than any self-respecting, childless, nearly 30-year-old person should know. I watch your show. I know your songs. I even wanted to see your movie, but didn’t because I was too embarrassed. But you can bet your sweet niblets I’ll rent it on DVD.
It’s sad. I know.
But Miley, here’s the thing. I promised myself I wouldn’t be mean to you in this letter. Because you’re, what, 16? I can’t be mean to a teenager unless they cut me off in traffic or make snide comments about me at the mall. Then it’s on. But you, I have no reason to be mean to.
I’m not here to comment about tasteless pictures you’ve make public. All teenagers do stupid stuff like that. I’m not going to talk about who you’re dating, or what you’re doing on said dates. Again, teenager=dumb decisions. That’s between you and your Achey Breaky Daddy.
But Miley, there’s one thing that I truly don’t understand. You see, I don’t think you sing very well. You have a lisp, which, granted isn’t your fault, but that often precludes people from a singing career. You warble a bit. And even to my untrained ears, you’re a li’l pitchy (thank you American Idol for teaching me that non-specific critique). So how did you get so famous? Why do teens flock to your concerts? Buy your CDs? Heck, why do I watch your show and occasionally sing along to you in my car (It’s the cliiiiiiiiiiiiiimb, y’all!)
I have a few theories. Maybe’s it’s your formerly mulleted papa. Maybe he danced his way into the previous generation’s DNA, and now their children are predisposed to like you. It’s genetic!
OR…Maybe Disney employees sneak into our homes at night, implanting tiny microchips in our brains. Back at the Disney Lab, deep inside that big golf ball at Epcot, they activate those chips, and we follow their whims. This would also explain why I know a bit too much about the Jonas Brothers, and why I one day spent an unhealthy amount of time on Raven Symone’s blog (she teaches you how to make sandwiches on there! Seriously!)
If it’s not genetics, and it’s not Disney, my only other solution is, it’s global warming. The ice caps melt. The polar bears die. Greenhouse gases pollute the air. And Miley rides the wave of destruction straight into the limelight.
Or I guess it could be aliens.
Whatever it is, Miley, I hope it ends soon. I don’t know how long I can keep my secret hidden.
Yours Truly,
Reluctant Fan in Colorado
Definitely a Disney conspiracy. It’s like the colonel’s chicken. They put addictive chemicals in it that make you crave it fortnightly.
Oh, I hated the Colonel with is wee beady eyes, and that smug look on his face. “Oh, you’re gonna buy my chicken! Ohhhhh!”
I totally saw the movie. In the theater. I have no shame. NO SHAME. I was deliciously terrible and wonderful all at the same time. Hehe.
Susan, we need to live much closer. So I can go do things with you that I’m embarrassed to do alone!