Don’t tell heart, my achy, breaky heart… that, gosh darnit, it’s about to be eaten by the swamp-ghoul who’s taken possession of my daughter’s body! Oh Holy Lord! Will the monster’s insatiable thirst for sweet, sweet, blood never be… uh… sated?


– ‘mmm, blood’… Miley Cyrus wants… some more…

So, there’s been loads of stuff in the media lately about this controversial Annie Leibowitz image of fifteen year-old ‘actress’ Miley Cyrus, and I probably don’t need to mention that the fact that Miley’s surname rhymes with Billy-Ray Cyrus’ surname is no coincidence. Because it’s actually the same name and she’s actually his daughter.

Now we doomies have never been ones to shrink back into our coffins; hiding away from the hard issues (and the light). So we’ve called on the uniquely beer-laced insight of our resident country music expert, backyard trailer occupant, and Anna-Nicole Smith look-a-like, Sharlene, to give us her piece on this complex conundrum. The results, I think you’ll agree, are shocking…

….

Over to you, Sharlene…

….

Sharlene, it’s your time to shine…

….

Sharlene?

….

SHARRRRRLEEEEENEEEE!!!!!! Get yo ass out a that trailer n come on up to do that opinion piece like I aksed you to do! I didn’t buy you no six-pack a cold ones for nothing…. SHAAAAAARRRRLEEEENEEEE!

Huh? …What? You think ah’m skinny? Well that’s mighty sweet of you, boyfriend, though it don’t really mean much when it’s comin’ from a giant, and a girl at that! Hahahahahahaha!

Now, where was I? Beertrailermilkbarfishbowlcatbloodymeattincownailshoelace…. I do apologise, it’s just sometimes when I forgit somethin’, if ah just recite whole bunch a words like that, helps me remember ‘n shit.

Ok, okay! I know I’m no Jessica Simpson impersonmonator, but don’t you think we look just the teensiest bit alike? I’ll strip down to a ‘kini and wash yo veh-icle if you give me five dollars! Hahahahahahaha!

Ok I’ll do it for free. (*burps*)

Who put that there?

Anyway, ‘nough sweet-talk for this piece of creamy pie, I sure as hell know better ‘n anyone else ‘bout Billy-Ray Cyrus, or sweet-Billy-butter-me-likey-yo-bee-bee-racy fo short. And I was shocked as the next person when I saw that lil’ Miley up there for the whole world to see, her skinny ass all up in a sheet like a dead girl who’s last dying wish was for her topless to body to be propped upright like she was sittin’ up in bed covered only by a sheet, ‘cept she was dead! Well dosh-garnit, said I. They’ve got them a propped-up-corpse-wisher! I’ll be – that’s acting!

But then the media gets a hold on it and who knows what they gonna say, they’s all on about the sexy children and who knows where this thing’s gon’ run to next?

Now I’m the first to agree, the desexualisation of kids is a real drag! When I was all of five I liked nothing more than to throw on one a mamma’s g-things an jump right up on the pole there, with her. Spinning round, n, round, and everyone cheerin’ and happy… I never felt so, so, so… free.

But people, I think we’re missin the point, here! That… thing, that monster has taken over the poor girl’s body and we got to stop it! Will society do nothing to arrest the muddy… swamp… zombie… PLAGUE that’s evidently sweeping this here humble pie? Huh? HUH? Oh. And when I say pie, I mean, town.

Look at it, just look at it, for just a second. Can you not see those smugly-fed ghoul lips, still rimmed with the blood of all those small, little animals she killed after dragging herself with her scrawny arms out a that cess-pool in hell? Tiny animals, all furry and cute-like. Just goin bout their animal ways, and never suspectin’ they’s about to give this here Miley, Miley… VIRUS a good serving of do-you-want-fries-with-yo-blood!

Do you not see, the body that never takes nourishment, though it devours the flesh, like that part in the movie Rosemary’s Baby where she eats the piece a liver to feed her monster-demon-baby that’s growing inside her, and she don’t know it yet? I mean, golly-gosh, she’s still covered in swamp-juice – that THING didn’t even blow-wave its own hair!!!

Now, I’m not gonna to lie to you, I don’t got no answers. But I’ll pray for you, Billy-Ray, oh, by gosh, I’ll pray. She ain’t gonna get to you, sweet baby Billy. Not if I can help it. You’re in my… achy…breaky… prayers.

I am Sharlene. And this has been my story.

….

Ooook. Thanks, Sharlene, for another gritty piece of investigative reportage.

So, there you have it, people, the horrible truth about what’s become of our sweet little Hannah Montana. Pre-natal victim of Belinda Neal? Or something more sinister, even than that?

Urrrghhhh, it really does give you the creeps, doesn’t it? Sort of makes you want to vomit continuously for hours until you begin to orally expel your own organs, just so you can wrap yourself in a kind of gizzard-nest, miles away from the winter cold, and from night-time terrors like Miley Cyrus.

In any case, you heard it here first at the haus ov duum – always here since three days ago, always at the razor’s edge.

– oafie

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3 responses to “Don’t tell heart, my achy, breaky heart… that, gosh darnit, it’s about to be eaten by the swamp-ghoul who’s taken possession of my daughter’s body! Oh Holy Lord! Will the monster’s insatiable thirst for sweet, sweet, blood never be… uh… sated?

  1. This shit is bananas. And as everyone knows, “bananas” is just code for hilarious.

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