Despite technically being her biological father, Billy-Ray has always seemed to have been a sort of peripheral figure in the life of Miley Cyrus. We, like most people, just assumed that this squealing, garishly coloured infant that was thrust onto our screens/music charts/cinemas/nightmares a few years ago was grown organically in one of Disney’s many factories, like all teen stars. Possibly incubated in pork render, agar, MSG, and ‘fairy dust’ (which is the trademarked term they use for the last remaining precious spoonfuls of Uncle Walts ejaculate, apparently).
So imagine our surprise when we learnt that it was none other than the combination of the by product of a faux cowboy’s testicles and a genuine human woman’s warm embracing vagina that were contracted out to design and produce her. Under the aegis of the Disney corporation, obviously (probably).
Because of this embarrassing start to life, Miley has tried to distance herself from the biological process that marks her out from the rest of Disney and shown almost no emotional response to her ‘parents’. Until now.
