(Judgey-judge fluff. I have horrible things going on so please enjoy a rare public rant on what's wrong with kids these days and I'll get personal again as soon as...something changes.)
This morning I sat through Achy Breaky 2 in it's entirety.
Who does that?
I did, that's who and I'm not linking.
My official review is that it's as perfectly terrible as the first one, which I remember not so fondly as it was played constantly on the fucking carousel at the shore while we tried to take ourselves seriously directly adjacent to said carousel on the sideshow and some of the old lecherous fools there taught me the line dance behind the tents where you could follow the pink arrows to the sex show. Embarrassed men would slip past me, staring too long as if I was one of the performers they were about to watch.
I was not.
But again, hated the first song, hate the second one. A half-assed chorus reprise with a bunch of rap stuffed in between. Billy Ray Cyrus doesn't sing so much as he allows himself to be processed.
Do not watch the video unless you love breast implants and electrical tape and very little else. If I cringe at some of the videos I've been in then I can't imagine how these twerker-ladies feel. Also, Dude. The one driving the spaceship looks like your teenage daughter. Gross.
I think the boys watched it a few times in a row on mute. They have no taste.
Give me that fucking Robin Thicke video any day. At least those breasts MOVE.
