When my daughter was little, Hannah Montana was all the rage. She and her cousins all wanted to be Hannah Montana, and not just for Halloween. They had tramp costumes that they’d wear everywhere, makeup applied with a trowel, and you’d find pink tubes of glittery lip gloss with hearts and rainbows on them all over the fucking place. That was bad enough, but what was worse, they all started acting and talking like that horse-faced slut. When Hannah Montana hurled insults at Billy-Ray Cyrus, that was tolerable because that fucknut inflicted Achey-Breaky Heart on us, so fuck him. But when my daughter used the same line against me, the Disney channels were instantly blocked and remained so for the next six years. Continue reading