1/30- Day One

December 23, 2012

It was at a Hannah Montana concert.
She was giving her final farewell tour;
her contract with Disney had expired.
Little did she know, her contract
wasn't the only thing being terminated.

I was sitting in the front row.
Derek Avila gave me his ticket,
because he had accidentally bought tickets to
see both Hannah Montana and the Jonas Brothers
on the same night, and he decided
the Jo Bros were more important.
I agreed to take the ticket off his hands
after realizing Miley had finally reached
the age of consent.

She got on stage to sing.
The 12-year-old girls composing the audience
went wild at the sight of the
wealthy auto-tune hack standing before them.
Their matching purity rings shined with
hormonal prepubescent excitement as she
performed songs about her secret identity
and how girls should all follow their dreams.
From the front row, I could tell there was
something...off...about her. And
it wasn't just the lip syncing. Her skin
seemed a little greener than usual.
Maybe it was just the lighting.

Then, she pulled off her wig.
The crowd went bonkers again. "Look!"
the little girl next to me shouted.
"Look Mom, she's Miley AND she's Hannah
too! It's true! She has a secret identity
just like a super hero! She's SOOOO deep!"
Miley dawned a slutty red, white, and
blue t-shirt and started singing
Party in the USA. Two miles away
from the Verizon Center, Mark Palos's hips
started mysteriously gyrating and he couldn't
explain why when asked by his girlfriend.
I looked down at my watch. I hadn't
switched it over to Daylight Savings Time
yet. It displayed as 1:00 AM, exactly.

Then, Miley pulled off her...second wig?

And all hell broke loose. The
whole room started glowing as red as
a bad cliché. She peeled her face
off, scalp to chin, and bull pythons
spilled from her eye sockets onto
the stage. The crowd stared, mouths wide open,
reactions ranging from fear to puzzlement
and confusion. Her skin started
cracking like old makeup. A roar
bellowed from her chest.
The shell of her 18-year-old anorexic
body was no longer large enough to contain
the beast within, and it completely
crumbled. Out stepped Walt Disney,
10-feet-tall, skin greenish grey, as
naked as the day he was spawned.
He approached the microphone to speak.

"Welcome, loyal fans, and thank you
for all your support and money.
Thanks to you, the seal has finally
been broken, and my corpse is
now unfrozen. I must congratulate
Miley for gathering so many souls in one place
for me. My greatest minion will be missed.
But you're all lucky enough to become
the first recruits in my New World Order!
Please stand still and prepare to be
zombified. I promise, this will be much
less painful than the first 3 hours of
this concert was."

The whole crowd stood silent
until one woman in the back spoke up.
"Pat Robertson was right!" she shouted.
"Miley Cyrus IS a satanist! Why
did I ever expose my daughter to
non Christian television?" She
cried, running toward the doors, and
the rest of the crowd followed. Panic ensued.
Realizing the doors would probably be
locked, I acted quickly. Grabbing the
annoying girl sitting next to me as a human
shield, I ran onto the stage, yelling,
"Hey Disney, look, young brain meat!"
He couldn't resist. As he began
to feast on her flesh, I exited the
stage through the trap door Miley
had entered through.

I took one last look at the faces
of the doomed souls trapped in the
arena, the zombie army of 12-year-olds
and mothers to be. Then I ran. And
I ran. And I emerged from the Verizon,
panting and alive.

To be continued…