Miley Cyrus' vagina is an involuntary fashion victim.
When the pop star tugs on yet another outrageous ensemble -- be it a glittery bodysuit or a flower costume -- she fails to consider her hoo-hah. That poor thing has been strapped into high-cut swimsuits, exposed to grimy performance props and subjected to Robin Thicke's "blurred line."
Before putting her poor vagine through yet another friction-heavy performance, Miley should let her lady bits breathe for a hot second. It's a natural crevice not meant for storing half a yard of rayon.
Would it kill Miley to throw on a pair of cotton panties and sit still? Beleaguered and afraid, these are all the thoughts racing through the mind of Miley's vajayjay.
"Shouldn’t there be, like, a layer of Spanx between me and this cold wind?"
"We’re going to be cleaning sparkles out of here for weeks."
"Don’t even think about getting one of these permanently attached. Chicks before dicks, Miley."
"Green isn’t my color, but I can’t complain about square footage."
"This is one way to get Drake all up in our business."
"Why bother shaving if we’re just going to end up looking like a drag queen’s Christmas tree?"
"I know they say commando is a good idea, but I’m practically the star of the show at this point."
"Honestly, pants are not the problem. Leotards are the problem and pants are the solution."
"At no point did the gynecologist recommend shrink-wrapping me in spandex. Help, I can't breathe!"
"When they said, 'The 70s are back in style,' they didn't mean you should decorate me with door curtains."