Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Miley Cyrus Is Trying to Kill Me


Six months ago I got some terrible news from my doctor. She said to me, "Bethany, I'm a doctor. You can tell because I'm wearing a white lab coat, I'm carrying this stethoscope, and I've taken all your money to run a lot of tests on you. So it pains me greatly to tell you that you have a very serious condition, very serious indeed."

"What is it, Doctor?" I asked.

"Hold your horses!" she responded. "I can't just tell you. I have to allow the tension to build so that you'll be extra upset!"

I waited.

"Here goes!" she finally said, "You know how some people get cancer and some other people get bubonic plague? And it's really inconvenient for them and they sometimes die? Well, you have a disease where, if you see Miley Cyrus twerk one more time, it will kill you. It's called Twerkinson's."

"Are you trying to be funny?" I asked.

"No, cross my heart and hope to not get Twerkinson's," she replied. "I could not be more serious. You can tell I'm being serious because I took my glasses off so you could see the seriousness in my eyes. And my new eyeshadow. But this isn't about bringing out the green in my eyes. It's about you and your Twerkinson's."

"There isn't any such thing as Twerkinson's," I said.

"Ten years ago, there wasn't," she said, getting up and walking around her desk for extra dramatic effect. "We were all safe. Dance Fever existed only in the lab. But then people started dying. We doctors began to ask ourselves why."

"Are you messing with me again?" I asked. "Like that time when you told me I had a weird growth on my back, but it was just a scratch and sniff sticker that smelled like popcorn?"

"Hey! I removed it, didn't I??? Sheesh! I swear you get more ungrateful every time you come in here!" my doctor said.

"Yes, but you didn't need to use a scalpel to remove it. I have a big popcorn-shaped scar now."

"I said I was sorry! Now, can I go on??"

"Okay. Yes. Never mind. Go on. Tell me more about Twerkinson's."

My doctor settled back into her seat and slowly began to spin around in it.

"Anyway, like I was saying, people began to die and me and my doctor friends were like, 'What's going on here?' So, we decided to get to the bottom of it in the most scientific way possible. We ordered some chimps off the internet and began to run some tests on them."

"Ooookay," I said.

"They all died right after we made them watch internet videos of Miley Cyrus twerking," my doctor said. "It was then that we put two and two together. Miley Cyrus is trying to kill you. She's trying to kill us all. With Twerkinson's."

"I'm still not sure I believe you," I said, "but I'm scared, so I've decided to go with that feeling instead of doubt."

"Good idea," said my doctor. "The best thing to do is always believe everything I say 100 percent. I've never been wrong, except about that one thing."

"What thing was that?" I asked.

"I don't remember," she said. "But it definitely didn't involve a flu outbreak that killed 10,000 people. Now you should probably go so I can fart into this paper bag. I can't do it with you watching."

I left. I went home. I cried. I haven't watched any internet videos since.

I'm telling all of you this because after the VMAs the other night, I think all of you should probably get checked for Twerkinson's. I won't have your deaths on my hands.

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