Yesterday, America’s least-favorite swamp rat/ offspring pimper, Billy Ray Cyrus, released a new single and accompanying video titled, “Achy Breaky 2.” The song is a rebooted version of Billy’s early nineties aural abortion, this time featuring aspiring rapper (and son of Dionne Warwick,) Buck 22.
Because you’re a glutton for punishment,who loves to torture your eyes and ears, please take a moment to watch this WTF-fest. If the cruel IT overlords have Vevo blocked at your office, consider yourself lucky as hail. Regardless, I’ll go ahead and hit the
The video begins much like all current and hip popular music hits of today, with Larry King. The suspender-clad prehistoric snapping turtle dug himself out of retirement and hammed it up for the intro while warning of an “unidentified flying object.”
Cut to Billy Ray and a diminutive black dude walking back from the fishin’ hole, armed with only a fishing pole and guitar, the two men are swooped up into a spaceship filled with supersonic sluts wearing only various types of tape. Billy’s token friend of color is transformed into Buck 22, a tall and meaty man who appears well-fed from his mother’s (Dionne Warwick!!) Psychic Friends Network residual checks.
As I was saying, the UFO is filled with sexy alien hoochies wearing nothing but tape. The extraterrestrial elegance is amplified when they all begin shaking their ample bottoms (complete with a rap lyric reminder that, “Miley’s still twerkin.”)
Speaking of the over sexed chipmunk sprung from Billy Ray’s swampnuts, all shame is lost at the 2:31 mark when papa decides to drop a “wrecking ball!” shout out as a reference to his absentee daughter and her monster hit.
Luckily, I’ve never had much use for dignity, so I kept watching until the merciful conclusion. Truthfully, I was mesmerized by those knockouts wearing nothing but adhesive. Seriously y’all, look at this hot mess express!
These aliens are from the galaxy of “DOI-OI-OING!”The shapely bods, questionable makeup choices, and “a checks a check,” mentality is all doing something in my Crowley’s Corner, if you catch my drift. These broads are the best thing to happen to sticky since Designer Duct Tape!
Welp, it’s time to pat yourself on the back, Mr. Cyrus. Heck, I’ll even throw in a joyless golf clap.
See, with this new version of your incredibly old song, you’ve regained your rightful position as WORST of the Cyrus clan. In closing, I’m going to borrow the wise words of YouTube commenter, “Iffy Tiffy,” who perfectly quipped:
Country + Rap = Crap.
And to my favorite intergalactic grinding girls, Dionne’s got your number, hussy!