Hey, who likes teddy bears? CORRECTION: Who liked teddy bears, before one cracked open, cavernous and huge, mid-VMAs, and Miley Cyrus crawled out of it, dancing as though walking backwards in a horror movie? Thanks for ruining teddy bears forever, Miley Cyrus.
Miley Cyrus’ tongue oscillates towards you. You are pinned to a dentist’s chair and Miley Cyrus’ tongue lolls this way and that, licking its way towards your eyes, winding down towards your mouth. “Mileyyyyy,” the tongue somehow hisses. “Milllllleeeeeeeyyyyyy.” Welcome to the worst nightmare in the world. Welcome to Miley Cyrus’ VMA performance.
Miley do you need to put something in your mouth to bite down on while we call an ambulance? Miley, are you having a stroke?
NEWFLASH, MILEY CYRUS: You don’t have any hair left. You haven’t had any hair left since you cut it all off last August. It’s all you ever talk about in every interview ever, so you would have thought you would remember that on-stage at the VMAs.
Donald Trump called. He wants all the jokes ever made about his hair back.
Drake is not especially happy at the best of times. He spends most of his life whispering the word “drizzy” into a vocoder and having emotions when McDonald’s give him nine chicken nuggets instead of ten. He is a very sensitive boy.
But look at him here, at the exact moment Miley Cyrus starts singing, and think: you are the gallery director on this VMA opener. This is the absolute best audience response you can cut to. And it’s of Drake, looking into the abyss and hoping that the abyss will swallow him up. It'll be okay, Drake, buddy. It'll be okay.
This happened! This actually happened!
Miley Cyrus took off a teddy bear-themed leotard to reveal a nude rubber bikini thing by first, apparently, reaching arm-first into her own behind.
Robin Thicke’s stylist holds up one blue suit and one black suit. “Robin,” Robin Thicke’s stylist says. “Robin. What do you want to wear tonight?”
Robin Thicke takes the lollipop out of his mouth and claps his hands twice to usher the six topless women he pays to fawn over him out of the room. “Yeah,” Robin Thicke says. “About that. I want to dress as Beetlejuice.”
“You want to dress as—“
“I want to dress as Beetlejuice, yes.”
“Robin, I really don’t thi—“
Robin Thicke is shouting, now, shouting so hard he is crying. “I WANT,” he says. “TO DRESS. AS BEETLEJUICE. IN FRONT. OF MILLIONS. OF PEOPLE. WHILE MILEY CYRUS. RUBS UP AGAINST ME. AND WILL SMITH’S FAMILY. WATCH ON. AGHAST.”
Bums are not meant to do that. Bums are not meant to fold in on themselves like cheap calzone. Bums are not meant to be so forced into rubber pants that 30% of the bum makes a bid for freedom and declares a sub-bottom underneath the site of the original bottom, which we’re assuming has been forced crystalline into an actual diamond under the force of those pants. Why, Miley. Why.