Hey, I’m Miley, and I’m sexy, not skanky

By LINDA P. CAMPBELL

IDK what is the big deal!

First, I’m posing for some artsy pics by, like, the most famous photog around.

So, I look like I’m about 20, but it’s really sexy — not skanky or anything like those cheap-o online photos. How awesome is that!

And next thing I know, all these tweeners’ moms and uptight biddies are dissing me for not, like, being all Hannah all the time.

Then everyone starts quoting this statement like I’m all embarrassed. “And I apologize to my fans who I care so deeply about,” it says. Are you kidding me? Like, who talks like that?

And then these bloggers are like, “How to talk to your teen or tween about Miley’s racy Vanity Fair photos.”

I’m like, don’t these people know that Hannah Montana is a character on a TV show?

I mean, it’s awesome to be famous and all from playing her. Like, how hard is it to pretend you’re a regular girl who’s secretly a rock star? And it’s so awesome to get treated like a celebrity, you know, going to parties and being in Seventeen and having gobs of money.

But, geez, all those screaming girls in fakey blond Hannah wigs — like, that can get kind of freaky.

And what’s with my parents? They’re like, we had nooooo idea this was going to happen. Yeah, right. It’s not like you couldn’t see the pictures right there on the camera, if you wanted to.

Daddy and me

My dad even posed, looking like a biker dude with me draped across his lap. I mean, that one was kinda creepy, but who’s making a stink about it?

They’re all, like, oh, you can see her back and it looks like she’s naked under that sheet. But I wasn’t really naked — or pregnant as a blimp, even, like in that ancient pic that Annie took of Demi Moore. That would be embarrassing, to be that fat and showing it off. Gross!

Wasn’t the whole reason for doing Vanity Fair, like, to sort of start to branch out from Disney? It’s not like any of my friends read Vanity Fair, for geez sake. Hot guys don’t go there to see girls they want to date. LOL!

It’s not like I really am Hannah Montana, you know.

I’m Miley Cyrus.

And I’m not just Billy Ray Cyrus’ daughter, either. No offense, but I’m more famous than he ever got as a country singer. Now he’s hitched to my star, ha-ha.

It’s not like I’m, like, 12, anymore, you know.

I’m going to be 16 in less than seven months, which means I can get a driver’s license. Maybe then I won’t have so many people trying to boss me around.

I mean, it’s not like I’ve been driving drunk or telling my fans to go out and have sex. Like, regular teenagers sit around in their high school classes talking about their birth control and doing it with their boyfriends. So don’t blame me.

I’m getting all this attention when I didn’t even make the Vanity Fair cover. There’s this old, wrinkly guy, Robert Kennedy, on the front. He ran for president, I think, way before I was born, but he’s still supposed to matter. At least, that’s what the magazine says.

Nobody’s talking about him, though. They want to talk about me. Me. Me!

Awesome!

That silly statement my publicist put out said something like, “Most of all, I have let myself down.” I’m supposed to have said that. LOL!

Actually, laughing all the way to the bank is more like it!

X Linda P. Campbell is a columnist and editorial writer for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram. Distributed by McClatchy-Tribune Information Services.