So I get this text from the girl I'm sponsoring (karma!) and it's this selfie:
Miley. I thought you were kidding when you sent me that snapchat of bleach. I thought your clothes were the biggest cry for help you could scream internally and project onto the masses. I thought that eating twenty-five pounds of chocolate couldn't make you feel anything but regret, but apparently it also makes you feel stoned, so there's a silver lining.
That being said, there is only one person who is allowed/can have/look fierce/be majestic/remind me of god/pull off this look:
Go home, Miley. Go home.