Dear Miley Cyrus,
We've heard through the grapevine that you're in talks with publishers to release your memoirs. First of all, since when are you literate? And furthermore, what the hell do you have to say that is at all interesting?
What in your 15 measly years of existence do you think is worth writing about, let alone reading about? Unless you have the extraordinary ability to remember your own birth, there is nothing you could write that would merit publishing, except maybe a how-to guide on being annoying, and Ashlee Simpson is already a living copy of that book.
You're on record as saying, "I am so excited to let fans in on how important my relationship with my family is to me. I hope to motivate mothers and daughters to build lifetimes of memories together and inspire kids around the world to live their dreams."
Exploiting your children in these harsh times is ever so difficult. It's good we'll have a manual in case we get lost after the "create progeny in order to garner attention" step.
Let's face it, Cy-dawg, the only reason you're famous is because you're a tabloid-favorite piece of jailbait.
Once you turn 18 (or give birth to your first precious little accident, whichever comes first), you'll just be a cheap knock-off of Britney, and even Britney is tired of being Britney these days.
In order to make these memoirs sell, you're going to have to do something big, and soon. Legally changing your name from Destiny Hope Cyrus, which is a good 15 years overdue, might not cut it. Suggestions include joining the Army, becoming a monk or getting a sex change. We're particularly fond of the last one.
Sincerely,
The Daily Arts Department
