Of course she was going to lick a teddy bear-wearing black woman's rectum. Of course she was.
“She's acting far too lascivious!”
“What is she doing with her tongue?!?”
“Doesn't she know she's white?”
“OMG, don't look at Robin Thicke that way!”
Why not? If you were anywhere near Facebook or Twitter last night, you might have run into the blowback. I was there. I can tell my children where I was the night Miley simultaneously erased the word taste from the dictionary and ruined the taste in my mouth. And who are the beaver bashers? The same people who turned on the “awards” show just so that they could see what the price of indecency was going for, what kind of ludicrous behavior was presented, how much ammo was available to fire pithy diatribes off on social media. That's why we were all there, let's not kid ourselves. Which one among us would be the first to bemoan the lost days where MTV was actually about music? Who would be the first “artist” to incite a reaction among the throngs of viewers of “who?”
You see, watching the VMAS is not about music, or awards, or atrocities to the human race. Watching is about sport. It's about us, the plebs eating their frozen pizza, hoping beyond hope that Taylor Swift will slip on a banana peel (and by banana peel I mean one of her exes' tongues), watching an eye out in case the rumored Oingo Boingo reunion takes place. What have we become?
I'm not saying I liked whatever the hell was going on on that stage. But you can't complain about your commute when you were hoping there would be a car accident to watch.