A bizarre scenario tends to creep into my mind during long bus journeys or lazy afternoons spent lounging around at home in my pyjama bottoms. It goes something like this:
Whilst touring North Africa, Miley Cyrus is abducted by Al Queda. The swarthy villains take Miley Cyrus back to their cave where they proceed to give her a spanking. In order to teach decadent American a lesson, the terrorists set up a camera and stream the whole thing on the internet. Miley Cyrus is spanked with an assortment of objects that include a table tennis bat, a diving flipper, and an old car license plate. Miley Cyrus gasps and bites her lip a bit. Her suffering is not excessive but the spanking clearly smarts to some extent.
Now, you might conclude that this is the meat and potatoes of my mental escapade but you’d be wrong in that presumption. The story continues:
After Miley Cyrus escapes from Al Queda, she appears on a syndicated television programme to discuss her ordeal. The programme is peppered with highlights from the Al Queda footage, which Miley must watch and relive. A live studio audience is then asked to press their key pads and vote on whether or not the pop princess deserved such treatment. Surprisingly, a large majority of the audience decide that Miley’s peachy arse did indeed deserve a paddling. The singer hangs her head and looks suitably admonished.
There’s one other element I mustn’t leave out. An all important factor. For me, the very best bit of this scenario, the clincher so to speak, is the way Miley has to stand while appearing on the television programme. She is offered a seat but declines, telling the host she can’t sit down because, and I quote, ‘it still kinda stings a bit’. This final detail is paramount to my fantasy’s appeal. This, for me, is the pay off, the pièce de résistance of my internal digression.
So, there you have it. I just thought I’d share. I hope you do not judge me too harshly. In my defence, I would like to point out that Miley Cyrus has turned eighteen. Although, in pointing that out, I feel compelled to admit the scenario has been playing out in my mind for almost two years. Does that make me a bad person? Should I turn myself in? I suppose a presidential nomination is out of the question? Ah well, what the hell, . . .fuck yiz.