Fifteen-year old Miley Cyrus is in the process of penning a memoir due out next spring, according to Billboard.com. For all of you who have spent the past few years worrying about melting icebergs, illegal wars, or the rise of China, Miley Cyrus is the spawn of Billy Ray Cyrus, don’t worry if you have to Wikipedia him, but more importantly, Miley Cyrus is Hannah Montana. Or, Hannah Montana is Miley Cyrus. I’m still not sure which way it goes, but I’ll call my seven-year old cousin later to make sure. Either way one of them (both?) has lived enough of a life, perhaps two, to write a book.
Apparently, the memoir intends to “trace her life from her roots in the Southern United States to Hollywood celebrity and will feature photographs from her famous family.” That’s just publishing mumbo jumbo for “Miley’s taking the next year to figure out who she is, where she came from, and why people think her dad’s some country music hot shot.” That’s great and all, I mean good for her dealing with the Jekyll and Hyde job Disney did on her to make up for Pixar ditching them, but I’ll pass on this and wait for ten years from now when she’s got her own reality show on E!, slobbering sentences and fried on Ecstasy. She’ll have her name tatted across her forehead and refer to herself Minnie Mouse. Oh, and she’ll be married to Pete Doherty. Walt Disney would be so proud.
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