By Billy Ray Cyrus


Dear Miley,

I don’t even know where to begin.

Every time I watch the footage of your VMA performance, I throw up a little bit in my mouth. It appalls me to think that that’s my little girl up there onstage, shaking her half-naked ass like a moron in front of millions of people.

And while it has no doubt been an embarrassing week for you, have you ever once stopped to consider how shenanigans like this make me look? Jesus, Miley. I hate to say it, but I’m starting to think you’ve learned absolutely nothing from the hundreds of hours of costly twerking lessons that I’ve generously supplied for you over the years.

Like what the fuck, Miley? Do you think twerk instructors just grow on magical twerking trees? You’re so privileged to have parents who support your career, and yet every time you drop that ass to the floor and shake things up, it comes off as dry and painfully uninspired.

I’ll have you know that there are children in Africa—who’ve never even heard of twerking—who would probably kill for the opportunity that you have. Shame on you for putting all that money and ass to waste. Consider this past Friday the last time I ever shell out $400 an hour for a twerking session with a former 50 Cent backup dancer. It’s just not worth the effort.


Billy Ray (Dad)

P.S. And for Christ’s sake, Miley. If you’re gonna borrow my giant stuffed teddy bears and beige bikini, at least put them to good use.