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.