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Dear Ms. Cyrus,

I trust you are keeping well. You don’t know me, but I am a concerned observer. However, unlike the majority of commentators on your lifestyle and career, I am not at all interested in your over-sexualised performances or uninformed views on mental illness.

It has struck me in recent years that for all your success, a greater negative force is asserting its dominance. Upon studying past images, and comparing them with photographs of you nowadays, the thing that resonates is your increasing lack of attire.

Back in the Hannah Montana days one would often see you going about your business dressed in shoes, socks, trousers, tops – covered in whatever fashionable threads were thrown at you free of charge by designer brands at the time. Perhaps as a result of the warm climate in the Los Angeles basin, there has been a gradual, yet noticeable, diminishing of the number of items of clothing on your body on any given day. Sweaters were replaced by tank tops, jeans by see-through tights. Indeed, things have got so bad that your underwear appears to be sewn from a patchwork of Oxygen, Nitrogen and Carbon Dioxide.

Whilst the rest of the world was dealing with the ‘twerking’ furore, I, the aforementioned concerned observer, saw the true nature of the debacle: rubbing yourself against a gentleman’s sausage was, for me, not a publicity-seeking display of stage-managed eroticism, but instead a clear indication of an underlying aggressive vaginal infection, of which you were simply trying to ease the symptoms by scratching the affected area on the nearest available protrusion (in this instance, the gentleman’s sausage – a flannel or loofah would not have caused such a global outcry, I dare say!)

Your plight is evident. Things must be so financially dire for you right now that, as is my understanding, you have taken a part-time job on a building site. A building site oblivious to the importance of health and safety guidelines, I should add. I saw you on that wrecking ball, naked as a newborn mole-rat, licking the chains for any nourishing residue, and knew that I must stage an intervention. Even when in employment (one would assume due to extortionate rental prices) you still cannot afford clothes to put on your back. Are you signed up to a housing scheme? Have you considered researching which government benefits you may be entitled to?

There are people to help you, Miley. Charities such as Oxfam, The Whitechapel Mission, Streetlytes, Clothes Line and Barnabus can all help to clothe the homeless and needy. Winter draws ever closer, and the threat of hypothermia is real, and one that should not be ignored. If you’re too proud to take clothing donations, fine, but please just cover yourself with something. Rags, a potato sack, slurry, papier mâché, or concrete, for example. Your face may get cold too, so best lob something over that.

I hope you take my words into account, and I think I speak for everybody when I say that we all look forward to never seeing any part of your body exposed unnecessarily ever again.

Regards,

Lady GaGa (a different one).

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