First of all, I am asking you politely to kick your father off your show. His coiffure offends me. He shamelessly tossed his mullet on stages across this great country for what felt like a millennium, ultimately ushering in an era in which mullet hunting became a sport to our people. Now he has turned his blood lust on the bob. I personally sport a pixie, and when he takes the next inevitable step and sets his sights on me and my hair, we will respond with violence. I suggest you end this now.
Additionally, I do not appreciate you inviting me to a party “in the USA”. This is Hollywood elitism at its worst! It is punishment enough that I turn into a pop lyric driven zombie by merely thinking of this song. Must you twist the knife with evasive directions? You could send me an engraved invitation and I would decline. I am a GROWN WOMAN! I speak on behalf of the children. They should be reminded that you have tried this before. Apparently you are impervious to lessons.
Miley, grow up and learn to exclude people like a woman. Tell them it’s an Arbonne party. No one will come, trust me. As for me and my fellow adults, we know your party might have clowns and it most certainly won’t have beer. No and no, missy.
So What? You're Famous.