Miley Cyrus is Addicted to Sex…ually Exploiting Herself

Now that she's of legal age to bang Bret Michaels and smoke salvia and get her labia cosmetically altered to resemble chick rock guru Pink, Disney has apparently decided to stop sexualizing Miley Cyrus.

In its defense, a company that makes a small country's GDP by surreptitiously marketing around the notion of hypersexualized pre-teens can't very well be caught fetishizing legal consenting adults. That would be pornographic.

Still, Cyrus seems to be doing a fairly good go at keeping the tradition alive. She's been caught with magically appearing new tattoos, piercings, cropped and/or violently dyed hair, leather, spikes, side boob, under boob, excessive cleavage, smoking, drinking, flashing her underwear, and after years of tireless efforts by paparazzi the world over: flashing no underwear.

I've mentioned before how the best way to get on the cover of a women's magazine is to be a mostly-naked woman. Cyrus, it seems, is no exception:

So that's low-rise, lack-of-shirt, cleavage, underboob, do-me eyes,
and a large, very phallic Italian ram's horn necklace between her mammaries.
And white, because she's so pure.

I count eight headlines on that cover, three of which are not overtly sexual, one of which is legitimately platonic. ("FINALLY - Stop living paycheck to paycheck.")

"Super SEXY Spring," "Hot abs and butt," "Best sex ever!" Those are splashed around Miley Cyrus along with "Threesome confessions." I don't know what happened in that hot tub in Malibu with Selena Gomez and the Biebs, and frankly I don't even want to watch the leaked tapes.

And what's the headline around Cyrus née Montana?

"It's Miley, bitches … 'I never faked anything.'"

The insinuation is orgasms, but let's be real, Cyrus has an orgasm every night when she rolls around in a giant pile of money stroking her … hair … to a looped vinyl of "Missundaztood."

On Saturday Night Live

In the course of researching my book, I've had to do some things I'm not proud of. Most of those revolve around watching Hannah Montana. It's no surprise then, that when I forced myself to sit down and watch a complete episode of Saturday Night Live for the first time in a few years, it was because I couldn't ignore Miley Cyrus hosting last weekend.

Positives:

• They did not ignore Cyrus' tiny personal debacles.
• They hit those points hard and early with a nice jazzy song-monologue
• She broke fourth wall in the Bieber sketch and pointed out that salvia is perfectly legal. Good girl.
• The Black Eyed Peas sketch was fairly accurate and all personalities were well portrayed in both attitude and appearance. This is shocking as it included Kenan Thompson in a pretty sizable roll, Thompson being the worst thing on SNL since Jimmy Fallon, assuming you don't count most of the rest of current cast members.
• Cyrus nailed her Fergie impression. Watching her dance like that also clearly shows how much a whore she doesn't dance like in her own shows, poles or not.
• Weekend update had decent writing, Will Forte didn't crack up at any point, Kenan Thompson was completely absent, and lasted a full 20% of the entire episode. (Normally that last part would be a Negative, but by taking up so much time it preempted worse sketches.)

Negatives:

• Every other sketch, really.
• 36 Seasons in and Lorne Michaels still hasn't figured out how to sound check the musical act such that their live performance, pumped through speakers, doesn't sound horrible when played on television.

There's one more thing I was going to list as a Negative, but it might be a positive. Either (more likely) the quality of SNL has degraded so significantly over time that their art department is filled with 2 talentless hacks and an intern who does all the actual work, or (more narcissistically) I've become so awesome at Photoshop and advertising that, without any formal training, I am on par with professional art departments.

Quit biting my style, SNL!
(Or just offer me a job already, geeze.)

The Pedophile's Paradox, or "Woody Allen's Dilemma"

There's really only four types of men in the world:

1. Gay men, who are hereby exempt from the following discussion about Miley Cyrus
   
2. Men like Matthew McConaughey's character David Wodderson in 1993's Dazed and Confused who are willing and even eager to sleep with underage girls like Miley Cyrus
   
3. Nice men, who only grudgingly admit that if legality were not an issue and consent given, they would indeed have sex with Miley Cyrus, and
4. Men like me.

This last group is the most interesting, because we are in fact a brainwashed hybrid of classes 2 and 3. Depending on the air and the mood, we may play to either extreme as the conversation dictates. However this vacillating belies a core inner belief that we must be led to, much more like our class 3 brothers.

Personally, I do not like Miley Cyrus. At all. It's nothing personal, I'm sure she's a very nice person, but she just sort of embodies everything I loath about pop culture.

• She's a manufactured celebrity
• Her talent is likewise augmented electronically and overshadows the (already weak) musical content of her songs
• She's encouraged to remain pure, which essentially makes her come off dumb.
• She is the epitome of eroticised adolescence

Also, her weird little half-accent is really hard to understand if you've lost some of your low-end hearing but, hey, I was the one who thought taking band for eight years was an easy-A with no ill effects.

But here's Allen's Dilemma in action:

As much as I loath her on principle, I would still totally bone Miley Cyrus. I know, I'm shocked too. As much as I hate pop and country, both can be catchy. As much as I hate processed vocals and that wavering, arpegiated glissando crap from bad singers who can't hold a steady note, the processing makes it sound passable. Good even.

And so here's the thing: I can't out-and-out hate Miley Cyrus for the image she was bred to wear; that'd be wrong of me philosophically and that would make me no better than the executive board of Disney^TM®C.

Sadly, If I were to meet Ms. Cyrus on the street, in a crowded New York coffee shop say, and she were to not be in Hannah Mode, perhaps in the trailing end of a 15 minute respite from personal assistants and in dire need of a 3/4-caf latte with extra foam and a hazelnut biscotto, I would be forced to treat her like a normal human being who just happens to have great hair and eyes, a sharp chin, puffy eye-cheeks with high underlying bone structure, short stature, a somewhat raspy voice and about 90% of my other listed features for the categorically perfect girl.

I would be forced to play it cool, hating this poor girl's image so much that I am incapable of becoming starstruck. This would of course endear me to her and my own natural wit and dry humor will seal the deal as I charmingly force her to wait behind but manage to silently get her order to come out with mine because I know the barista so well. I will then walk out with an amazing story because I outfoxed a teen pop sensation in the art of looking awesome.

Unfortunately, this clearly leads to the worst-case scenario of her tracking me down and wacky hijinks ensuing as we star in the worst romantic comedy since Kelly Clarkson made that movie with that guy who didn't win.

No matter what, the result is still the same. I would absolutely not sleep with Miley Cyrus, if only because she's 16 or something and she Hannah Montana stands for everything I hate about pop culture.

However if I ever met her it seems pretty obvious that she would become infatuated with me and I would basically be forced to follow in the footsteps of the great deflowering D-Bags who cam before me: Justin Timberlake, Wilmer Valderrama, Woody Allen and Billy Ray Cyrus.

There's just no way around it.

So, Miley dear, if you can hear me, for your own sake sweetheart, do yourself a favor. Stay far far away from me. I'll only break your heart by wearing wife beaters all day and then starting a solo career that eclipses you after your three failed marriages and the mental breakdown that follows the total self realization of a pop icon.

Also, if that last bit made me sound like forbidden fruit I should also warn you I've eaten cute baby animals and I might have picked up the clap from either Miranda Cosgrove or Demi Lovato. It's kind of hard to tell which when you're all in one big pile like that.

There was actually a more apropos demotivator but it was staged and sort of gave away more than I liked.
COMPLETELY UNLIKE STEPHANIE HERE, AM I RIGHT???