A Date with Miley Cyrus
I won a date with Miley Cyrus.
Its true. I won a competition on the radio.
They hadn’t told me what the prize was but anyway
a couple of Minders in suits turned up first
and made me sign
a bunch of contracts
promising not to do anything illegal, immoral
or disreputable with Miley etc, etc
but we ditched the suit-guys after the first night-club
by climbing out thru the toilet window.
“They never let me have fun,” she hissed.
“They’re worse than my probation officer.”
We went to a series of increasingly dubious establishments
with names like “GrindBitch” and “Cum Cum!
where she seemed to know all the staff by their first names
and the type of genital piercings they favoured..
My memories start to become a bit disjointed
at this point, (I think Miley put something in my drink),
and of course we didn’t have the limo anymore
but we could always hire taxis. We would have hired
just one ideally, but she
kept getting into insane arguments with the drivers
and thus we found ourselves repeatedly dumped
onto the footpath in dangerously deserted neighbourhoods,
watching personal safety dissappear along with the rear lights
while Miley shrieked a tirade of vile if entertaining abuse.
Then we found a taxi driver who was crazy too
and seemed keen to drive someone famous around all night
at whatever the cost.
Indeed I grew a little jealous of the dubious whispering alliance
that seemed to develop between Miley
and the driver but what could I say,
I was a mere competition winner and
we needed transport and he was still game even after
Miley’s bouts of projectile vomiting
had streaked the side of the taxi
with long, greenish smears of vegan slime..
At the last night-club we went to,
as we were snorting some sort of white powder
in a cubicle in the Ladies, Miley
said she’d give me a blow job,
but only if the creepy Peruvian guy
in the cubicle with us could film us
in Hi Def format
so she could upload it onto her blog.
I was tempted despite my better judgment but then
the drunk Phillipino stripper (who was
also in the cubicle with us and the creepy peruvian guy) said
she knew a really good crack-house
so we all got into the taxi again to go there
but then she said we couldn’t come in but
to give her the money and wait out here in
the taxi but
after she didn’t come out again after an hour or so Miley
got the Peruvian guy to go into the crack-house
to get our money back but we drove off after
we heard gunshots and screaming.
Then she said she wanted
to get a tattoo of my name on her butt
so the taxi-driver took us to a cockroach infested
all-night biker tatttoo parlour but
she started screeching at the tattooist that he
“wasn’t respecting” her after he caught her
trying to steal a tattoo gun
and we were given the option of leaving
or having no teeth.
After we got kicked out of the tattoo parlour
up getting chased by Security Guards
when we tried to get into the back of a chemist shop
(I told her it was closed but she said she knew the owner)
and I tore my pants getting over a chain link fence.
I also lost my wallet in the escape but
she said it didn’t matter because
she had lots of money and credit cards and we could
get anything we want.
Then she couldn’t find her credit card either
so we spent an hour looking for it, crawling on
our hands and knees in a dark, dank alley strewn with
broken glass and dog-shit.
I must admit, As I crawled thru the filthy lane-way
picking thru piles of
rotting garbage looking for the lost Credit card
I couldn’t help thinking that
this wasn’t how I’d pictured
the evening turning out.
Then she said the credit card was in her purse after all.
So we found another taxi (the other guy
had taken off when the alarms went off) and
sometime around dawn we broke into a Zoo
and as the sun came up I found myself
sitting stunned on a bench
watching her laughing hysterically and
chasing a flock of agitated flamingoes thru a lagoon
“Who’s Pink now bitch!?!” she kept taunting them
as she floundered thru the muddy shallows.
Her Minders found us about the same time as the Zoo-keepers
and after they paid the Zoo keepers off
and made us all sign papers promising
never to speak of the incident
to a living soul
they coaxed her back into the Limo
with a cylinder of Nitrous Oxide.
“Will I ever see you again Miley,” I asked
“I love you Gerry,” she called to me
thru the rapidly closing window
“My names not Gerry”, I said,
but she was already distracted and shouting at the driver
to take her to a Fancy Dress Shop
so she could hire a Giant Clam costume
to wear at her niece’s Twelth birthday Party.
Now all I have to remember her by
is a rash, and even that will go
in a week or two, the doctor tells me,
if I keep using the ointment.
(Postscript; I think she said
she was Miley Cyrus,
it might have been Britney Spears)
The Reverend Hellfire is etc, etc..