Tuesday, 27 August 2013


Miley Cyrus, twerking,
on Gene Simmons' tongue. (And wins).

And since I'm not ready to let this whole "Miley Cyrus, you crazy little slut" thing go just yet (you still haven't seen her VMAs performance? Well you need to click here right now. Unless you're under 18, in which case you shouldn't be reading this blog at all because "f-word," in fact, what the fuck, why aren't you in bed you little brat?), I'd like to pile on with one more complaint:
What in the name of reptilean hillbillies is going on with Miley's tongue? 

The kid won't stop flashing that thing, she's obsessed with it, and it's even more repellent than the bony little goat arse she also won't stop flashing. 

Also, why is it grey?
Where I come from, which granted is not the hind end of Appalachian Mountains so maybe this point is moot, tongues are meant to be pink.

Where I come from, which granted is not a place where people eat oxy-fried possum with their dang ol' fingers, a tongue is meant to remain in its cavern at all times.

Where I come from, which granted is not a place where people wear latex underpants and try to pass off full-body dry heaves as "dancing," a tongue is not meant to reach all the way down to one's chin, rivalling the Loch Ness monster for length and sheer mythic amazeballsiness.

I could go on, but I think I'll leave the last word to Rihanna. Who was speechless. And let me tell you, when Rihanna thinks your performance is out of order, you need Jesus. And therapy. And perhaps even an exorcism. Because somebody's got to do something about that tongue.