Dear Lobby of a NYC Hotel, feel our pain, because not many moments go by when Miley Cyrus isn’t terrorizing our retinas with the image of cooter abuse by flashing her hairless Nolichucky River beaver as it gasps for air while getting suffocated by her leotard.
Life & Style says that the spawn of Billy Ray Cyrus and a happy-go-lucky anime horse recently made a stop in NYC on her Bangerz world tour and the guests of the hotel she stayed in got a giant, sticky serving of her insufferableness. An “insider” tells Life & Style that Miley and her crew of hangers-on stayed at The Greenwich Hotel and they didn’t keep their foolery contained in their room. The foolery spilled out into the lobby and they tore the place apart. THEY WERE SMOKING POT! The “insider” said this:
“It was like a tornado hit the lobby. Miley and her posse took over, screaming and carrying on so much that management received a number of complaints. It was the kind of bad behavior you’d expect from a bunch of juvenile delinquents.”
Was my Catholic catechism teacher Life & Style’s “insider,” because she’s the only human alive I know who uses phrases like “juvenile delinquents.” Did the “insider” also say in a whispered voice (so that God’s ears couldn’t hear her), “They were also smoking that marry-juh-wan-uh.” The inside source was Mink Stole’s Serial Mom character, basically.
The source said that when management asked Miley if she could turn down the fuckery, she flipped out and channeled her beaver twin Justin Bieber:
“She started screaming at them and saying that she’s spent so much money there that they should be glad to have her. She basically threw a tantrum and acted like a spoiled brat.”
Management handled it all wrong. When a rabid, trailer trash, methed-out beaver comes into your space, you’re not supposed to try to reason with it, because it will violently twerk on you and then you’ll end up in the ER with a serious rabies infection. What you’re supposed to do is calmly place a blunt in front of it and as it chews on the edges of that blunt, you drop a net over it and call its wrangler (read: Billy Ray). If you don’t have a blunt, push one of those doggy sex toys in front of it and call its wrangler while it humps away.
And since we’re on the subject of Cyruses bringing terror upon the public, here’s Trace Cyrus and his band Metro Station, wreaking havoc on your ears with their new song and video. It’s like a Good Charlotte abortion.
On a positive note, unlike his piece of trash sister who doesn’t know how to act right in public, Trace is very well-mannered and well-behaved. I mean, have you ever seen a wild Emo horse sit so gentlemanly-like on a sofa?
Here’s Miley, her assistant Cheyne and one of her dogs leaving The Greenwich Hotel after almost destroying it.