Miley’s team has been leaking a bunch of clips from her new music video for her new song called “Adore You,” where the concept is her filming a sex tape with herself in sheer underwear that’s blurred out because that’s she esthetic the world is turning to, thanks to being raised on porno…and if you’re into Miley touching her neck romantically with implied orgasms as she sings, and I can’t see how you wouldn’t be, you’ll appreciate this video, especially when you don’t hang with 21-year-old girls and don’t realize that this is how horny they all are all the time.

I am totally down with this video and all it has to offer, but in my defense, I love shit like this more than porn, and I did watch it on mute.
 
 
“Louder” is the latest single from Lea Michele that her PR machine and sycophants are declaring a successful triumph just six months after losing boyfriend Cory Monteith. I’ve listened to far too many crappy over-produced tracks from Katy Perry and Miley Cyrus and Lady Gaga and this doesn’t even rise to that crappy category. 

As much as teen girls want to believe in the dream of shrieking in your boyfriend’s ear until he finds a needle full of heroin big enough to make the nails on the chalkboard stop, I don’t see this track joining the teen girl shitty music pantheon. Still, I’m told it’s a triumph of the spirit. I’m sure they’re right.
 
 
For Ke$ha, it’s not enough just to be a true musical non-genius. She wants to be derided for her crass and raunchy bits showing in her music videos as well. Only with total degradation will she ever find true peace. In her new music video for “Dirty Love,” the newly face-sutured Ke$ha goes to the great lengths of digitally erasing her nipples lest anybody find something worthwhile in her screeching performance.
She’s suffering for her art so that we may suffer as well. At some point, this miserable merry-go-round will stop, everybody will climb off to vomit, and Ke$ha will be left as the rusted dumping ground for homeless denizen. I give it maybe two or three more weeks.
 
 
Because people are stupid, Paris Hilton was greeted by a bunch of her fans when she arrived at the Hyde Bellagio to continue to pretend that she’s a DJ for a New Year’s Eve party. It’s absolutely amazing that Paris is reportedly one of the highest paid DJs in the world, because not only does she seem like the kind of person who would be confused by the simplest buttons on her iTunes control panel, but her own music is the stuff that nightmares are made of...
Normally, I’d ask that we all pledge to make 2014 the year that we push Paris and other similar celebrities into irrelevance, but I have a feeling that she’ll only keep playing tired ass techno music until she’s eventually welcoming Canadian Prime Minister Justin Bieber at his swearing in.
 
 
Not a fan mashup. An official thing, via Cartoon Network Africa (Who knew that existed? Besides Africans, obviously.)
 
 
Beyonce is good at many things. By many, I mean three. Looking good, walking in heels, and making money. There are a number of professions where a woman could translate those talents into success. Prostitution, the retail banking industry, and popular music come to mind. Beyonce chose to skip retail banking.
Here’s Beyonce visually interpreting one of her many new tracks that all sounds the same, “Drunk in Love.” I think we can all relate to being overwhelmed with passion while showing off our nipples in wet swimsuits. Beyonce taps into the universal experience, that’s why her garter gets all the big bills.
 
 
I have a love affair with most songs celebrating infidelity, because I find it hilarious. “Me and Mrs. Jones” by Billy Paul is one of them. It’s like, “We’re having an affair. Poor us! Gosh, if only it were easier.”
The other one is “Secret Lovers” by Atlantic Starr. “How could something so wrong feel so right?” is a lyric. And we’re supposed to feel sorry for them while they’re fucking their loved ones over? There’s like children and other people at home, and they’re like, “But I miss you! Let’s meet at the hotel lobby.” 
So that kind of makes me giggle.
 
 
The answer, of course, is “Do They Know It’s Christmas?” by Band Aid…
For some reason, I hadn’t seen the video in ages and forgot the lineup of singers other than Bono (who has the head-scratching, “Well, tonight thank God it’s them, instead of you!” line that I’ve never been able to figure out). 
In the video, that line works even better because it follows the duet with Simon LeBon and Sting, and suddenly there’s a young Bono standing behind them and wearing Uncle Jessie’s haircut from “Full House”…and the three of them share one mike as Bono belts his weird line out. 

Even stranger, Sting never gets his own line—he’s just singing background for everyone else, which was insane because he was the biggest star there. Here’s what kills me about this video (other than George Michael’s haircut): Not only does Paul Young bat leadoff, they go back to him for another solo in the middle! 

PAUL FUCKING YOUNG! 

They had the lead singer of the hottest band at the time (Duran Duran’s LeBon), the best singer of the entire decade (Sting) and a budding superstar (Bono)…and they kicked things off with Paul Young?!

I was trying to think of a sports equivalent of this—like John Starks getting named to the ‘92 Dream Team, then starting over Michael Jordan and Clyde Drexler—but it’s impossible. It’s too ludicrous. You can’t come up with the sports equivalent of Paul Young getting the nod over Bono, Sting and Simon LeBon. 

I watched this clip 10 times in two weeks and still couldn’t figure it out. And you wonder what I do all day.
 
 
I puked five times that night so I only caught the last hour of the 2013 American “Music” Awards, but it doesn’t really matter, because all you really need to know about the state of the music industry is that Taylor Swift won a bunch of shit including Artist of The Year. Taylor Swift. Taylor Swift won Artist of The Year. I can’t stress enough that Taylor Swift won Artist of The Year. She should also win some kind of award for being the only tall, rich, blonde with fantastic legs that men run away from like they’re being chased by a werewolf. Taylor Swift now has fourteen AMAs, so I don’t know where she keeps them all. I would say she could put them in her vagina, but that’s where she keeps her heart.
 
 
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The American Music Awards are the exact same menagerie of musical mediocrity as the Video Music Awards, except they have the word “American” packed right in front. You can pretend the VMAs are run by metrosexual European transplants, because they are, but the AMAs are like waving the stars and stripes and screaming to the world, “hey, we’re America and this is our awesome music.” Then Al Qaeda yells back that your music sucks and you have no real response. Not when Miley’s squawking out lyrics in front of a giant crying cat. The feline might represent the archetypal tears of the child, but I’m guessing Miley will smack her gums and tell everybody it’s her wet pussy. Zing. You’ve been Cyrus-shocked.