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Miley Cyrus Must Be Stopped
By FaceTheCitizen | 6th August, 2013 | 1:43 am | The Moped Insurgency


Once, a wholesome Disney star with an innocent TV show and a mullet for a father. Now, a sex-crazed sex fiend for the sex. Gentlemen and gentle-ladies, this is the time in which one takes action. For the good of the land. This will now forever be known as the "Miley Cyrus Offensive".

I'm sure you've seen Miley Cyrus' newest video. You know, the stupid one. Which stupid one? Good question.

Took me a while, but I found it.

It may seem like an innocent video about a privileged white girl trying to take her music in a "black" direction (because there's nothing more urban and black than being a former Disney star), but it's not. There's a darker meaning underneath all of this.

As I hide under the table, typing this, I must tell you what is going on. First, I must take you back to a few days ago.


"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," I held my hands up. "You want me to do what?"

Melissa, Seamus' girlfriend, stood in front of me with a pleading look on her face. At least I think it was pleading. Her eyes were starting at my throat.

"I need you to investigate something," Melissa snarled. "A woman married a French bridge. A few years before, a woman married the Berlin fucking Wall. I want you to go and find out what's going on."

"Why me? You're the investigative reporter that I created."

"I have another case, but this one is too interesting to pass up."

"I ain't doing it! I've got pony porn I've got to erase from my X-Box One."

Seriously, why?

"I'll pay you," Melissa said.


"I'll sext you naked pictures of myself."

"When's the next flight to France?"

I arrived at Céret, France in the morning. I drove my moped under the Pont du Diable bridge, until a troll popped out and stopped me.

"J'ai besoin d'aide!"

"Holy fuck, it's a troll!"

"Les salauds! Ils ont essayé de me tuer. Ils ont essayé de..." The troll dropped dead in front of me. That's when I realized the guy had several wounds and gashes. He had bled to death.

"...wait, I thought only fire could kill you bastards."

That was when a young man in tight jeans, a shirt that was cut in half and covering only his right side, and a tattoo of human eyes right above his own popped out of nowhere holding a bloody machete and a large, metal case.

A wild Frenchman appears

I stared at him. "Hi."

He took out a rocket launcher from the case.

"What'cha doing?"

He aimed the rocket at bridge. He yelled, "Pour la grande prêtresse Miley et le seigneur de la fumée!"

He fired the rocket at the stone bridge and destroyed it.

"Oh, fuck this shit! I'm already on a no-fly list!" I turned around to drive off, but not before the French terrorist blew his brains out with a pistol.

I'd hate to be the one to inform his wife.

As I waited at the airport, I thought about what happened. The guy killed the troll because the troll was most likely its guardian. But why blow up the bridge? A nearby television showed the news about similar incidents. Since I didn't understand the barbaric language of France, I turned to the Internet for the news. Each incident was nearly identical: some weirdly dressed douche or skank blowing something up before murdering themselves. Each time, they would say, "For the High Priestess Miley and the Lord of Smoke."

Miley. The strange clothes. I looked up Miley Cyrus' recent video and made the connection. I wish I hadn't. I bought a ticket and headed straight for Hollywood.

No, not the one in Florida.

I arrived late at night. I wish I knew where Miley Cyrus lived. I zipped around on my moped, asking directions to Hannah Montana's house, but came up either empty handed, or pepper-sprayed. I should have taken the hint and just gone home.

But then, I saw Pedro.

"Pedro! I haven't seen you since Colombia-"

He fell in front of me, bleeding.

"Pedro!" I knelt to the dying Latino. He looked at me like he didn't want to do something but had no choice. He handed me a blood-soaked piece of paper.

"Call...the Frenchman," Pedro said with his last, dying breath. I opened the note.

It had Miley's address.

Detective work!

I called the Frenchman first. "Pedro's dead." I hung up. Fuck that emotional shit, I had a case to solve. Miley's mansion was heavily guarded. The guards also wore the strange clothing associated with the terrorists. They all wore the same thing: white shorts over a white one-piece swimsuit designed for women. Mind you, these were heavily muscular men. Breathing alone should rip those things apart.

I managed to jump over the fence and snuck toward the mansion. I peeked through the windows and saw various people in the middle of "twerking". Here, I even took a picture.

No-Editor's note.

They stopped twerking. They stood up and faced the window. They were facing me. I felt someone grab me from behind and pull me into the living room. I faced the strangely dressed twerkers and Miley Cyrus herself clad in a white, flowing dress with squares cut into it, a white fur coat, and several golden rings.

"Oh, look," the former Disney star smirked. "Another intruder. Take him to the interrogation room." She turned to her friends. "Continue twerking."

I was tied to the chair in a dark room. Two guards stayed with me. It was an hour until Miley entered the room and dumped the fur coat on the floor.

"Let me guess: the Frenchman sent you," she said as she bopped her head side to side.

"No, my imaginary friend's girlfriend did."

"...wut", she chirped. I think Miley Cyrus might be a bird.

"So, what'cha doing, Miley? Terrorist attacks, strange music videos, eating worms super early in the morning. What are you planning? Who is this Lord of Smoke?"

"The Lord of Smoke is the one true God. It is our duty and our honor to serve His dark needs and wants."

"And you're the High Priestess of this Smoke guy."

"Correct." She pecked at the floor.

"Great, another cult in Mexico."

"This is California." She then preened.

"Another cult in Mexico," I sighed. "And what does your video have to do with the Lord of Smoke? I know they're connected, but how?"

Laughing, Miley took out her iPhone and played her music video. "Try to find for yourself." I swear I heard a squawk.

I watched the video closely. Once it finished, it hit me. "Oh, I get it! The music video is a commentary about Imperialist China-"

"Shut up!" Miley slapped me. Feathers shot out of nowhere. Weird. "The video recorded the ceremony necessary to summon the Lord of Smoke. A lot of people died to make it. Once the video reaches fifty four million views, it'll open the portal to the Smoke Lord's realm, from where He will come-"


"-and judge the non-believers accordingly and rule the world in total darkness for ten thousand years. *tweet*"

"You said you want to go in a 'black' direction."

"Yes, black. Black as smoke."

I took that explanation.

Miley shrugged. "Well, there's nothing you can do. Your friend tried to stop us and failed. So will you."

"I've defeated a god before. Your Lord of Smoke will be no different."

She turned to me. There was something in her eyes. Cold and glassy. Reptilian. "Leave," she ordered the guards.

The guards nodded and left the room. Miley walked towards me, thrusting her pelvis and flicking her tongue around like a lizard. She sat on top of me, flicking her tongue around. She was trying to be sexy, but she ended up spraying saliva all over my face. Birds feel with their tongues. It was weird.

"Be my concubine and I'll let you leave," she said while she licked my cheek.

"I think you meant live."

"I'm so high right now." She looked at me. "Do me. Do me hard!"


"I would normally say yes, but something about you is a turn off. I think it's you. All of you. I have no idea where a bird's vagina is."

"Fine!" She stood up. "Guards! Take him to the dungeon!"

The fabulously dressed guards untied me and took me to another dark room. Left alone, I sat on the floor and stretched my legs. My foot hit something.

"Ow!" A familiar voice.

"Who is there?"

"Me," Miley Cyrus stepped out of the darkness.


This Miley was different. She had her original hair color and wore a normal shirt and jeans. Distinct lack of plumage.

The not fucking crazy Miley Cyrus!


"Remember in Hannah Montana, where the main character led a double life? Well, I'm the original Miley Cyrus and that one is an avian- clone gone wild."

"You're joking."

"Disney clones all it's child stars in case something happens to us. As insurance."

"And your bird-clone escaped, kidnapped you, and became the head of a cult that worships a baby eating smoke god."

"Pretty much."

"Cool. Wanna see my twerking picture?"

No, no, no, no!-Editor

"Ew," she said.

Anyways, this is where it ends my friends. It's been a day. I found a table in the dark and lied under it. They're coming for me, to execute me. The world is going to end. I failed.

I'm sorry.

The door busted open. Two guards fell to the floor, blood gushing from their neck. Miley and I looked at the door way to find a bald, pale man standing. He spoke in a French accent, "Get up. We must stop them."

"Oh fuck, you're the Frenchman aren't you?" I said.

"No shit, yankee. I came to avenge Pedro."

"And rescue me?"

"No." He tossed me a typhoon swell sword. "You're going to need this."

"No gun?"

"No," the Frenchman blurred down the hallway.

"What in the living fuck?", Miley asked politely. The both of us stepped outside and spotted the Frenchman drinking the blood from a cultist.

"What in the living fuck?!"

"You're a vampire?!" I yelled.

The Frenchman stopped drinking and turned to me. "You didn't know?"


He shrugged. He dropped the lifeless body and ran toward the living room. Miley and I followed him. The three of us came (haha) face to face with Bird-Clone Miley and her cultists.

"You can't stop the Lord of Smoke!" Bird-Clone Miley shouted. She clapped her hands. "Fuck 'em up!"

The Frenchman and I fought the twerking cultists. I used the sword and the vampire used his fists and fangs. It was a bloody fight, one that was necessary to save the world at all costs. I was cutting down my twelfth cultist when Bird-Clone Miley punched me with enough force to send me flying against the wall.

I groaned, and against my better judgement, charged towards her. She jabbed forward to punch me, but I ducked, slid towards her, grabbed her feet, and flipped her over. She was pretty light, because of the hollow bones. I grabbed her legs with one hand as her head hit the floor and held the sword high. She twerked in an attempt to escape my grasp.

Stop trying to show that fucking picture!-Editor.
I brought the sword down.

She screamed at me. Actually it was a bunch of chirping. Friggin' weird, anyway. "So la da di da di!"

An invisible force struck the sword and sent it flying over my hands. The Frenchman, done with killing aimless twenty somethings, grabbed it in mid-air. Clone Miley was free of my grasp and jumped to her feet and jabbed at me. I ducked and spun behind her.

The Frenchman tossed the blade at me. I caught it and stabbed the clone through the back.

"Flawless victory!" I yelled.

Clone Miley screamed as she turned to dust and ash. I kicked the pile of ash and turned to the French vampire. "What about the video? Wait shit, this thing wasn't a phoenix, right?"

"The video can't do anything now. With the High Priestess dead and almost everyone in the cult dead, the Lord of Smoke can't cross over. I'll spend the next few months hunting the rest down, but we should be safe."

"That's convenient."

"Shut up."

Miley Cyrus, the real Miley Cyrus, stepped forward. "I got my life back?"

The Frenchman nodded. "Yes. Don't worry about the bodies. I know some cleaners."

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

I held a hand up. "What about me?"

"Fuck off."

A few hours later, the Frenchman and I watched the sunrise from the Hollywood sign. We stood in silence, enjoying the view. He sighed and turned to leave. "The sun's coming up. I don't die from it, but it still irritates me."

"Take care, Frenchman."

"Call me Jacques."

He left. I got on my moped and drove to the airport. I arrived at New York City a few hours later and called Melissa up.

"You owe me pictures!"

She said three words, "Check your inbox."

I logged onto my hotmail, excited. "Oh man, I can't wait-Oh my God! Pony porn!"
No, God! No, no, no, noooooo-Editor.


Tags: Personal perspective, Miley Cyrus, Farce 34

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