Miley Cyrus is a spoiled bitch. There, I said it. One wants to give a 15 year old girl the benefit of the doubt, but I’ve decided that at this point, there is enough evidence to conclusively define that girl as a royal bi-otch. It’s bad enough that the Disney Channel decided to inflict this “singer” on the preteen set with her own show, but now that the Tweens rule the world, the rest of us have to put up with this Trashella as well. First there were the Youtube videos of the Lolita-lite flashing her bra to her over-sexed boyfriends, and then making out with some other underaged slut. She finally gets a chance to come off with a little class, and then she and her Dad go and try to trash Annie Liebowitz. Annie takes the only shot of her that doesn’t look like a reject centerfold from Barely Legal, and they try to claim they were taken advantage of. Puh-leeze! Now, the ungrateful urchin goes and makes another video where she insults her fellow Disney starlets. Clearly, she got her brains from dear old Dad—Billy Ray Cyrus. The Litter doesn’t fall far from the Trash-heap, now does it?
What is it with straight men and Lance Armstrong? They can all pretend that they admire him for his resilience, his athletic achievements, or his bevy of bodacious girlfriends. But you and I know all those metro-sexuals have major man-crushes on the Lancer. Whenever the subject of Armstrong comes up, grown men blush and flutter like 12 year old girls with a fresh copy of Tiger Beat. They can all claim that the fad of the yellow wristbands that swept the nation a while back was due to an all consuming concern on the part of yuppy-boys everywhere with finding a cure for cancer, but the truth is, wearing that rubber bracelet was just the closest those boys were ever going to get to Armstrong’s nut-sac. Sad, just sad.
There is that moment when one realizes that the guy they’ve been crushing on is, most likely, a major tool. It’s not really surprising, because most of the men you’ve crushed on have shown themselves to be tools, eventually. But it is disappointing. You hoped that this time, maybe you managed to pick someone to focus your affections upon who would be worthy of your attention. Not that your attention is all that special, in the scheme of things, but it’s the only attention you have to give. Everyone around you seems to have been able to screen out all those potential suitors that will never be what they need them to be, and found someone who is, at least for now, exactly what they need. Somehow, you haven’t gained that skill with age. Instead, you’ve only gotten better at recognizing the inherent toolishness in the men you have let capture your fancy a little bit faster. You’ve yet to learn how to give your affection slower, but you have learned how to ask for, or to take, your heart back faster than in years past. Wisdom, perhaps, less broken hearts, for sure, but less love given, less daydreams had. No wasting of minutes, hours, days, months on fantasies of love requited. Those moments are now free. You notice that free sometimes just means empty.