Stranded on a Desert Island with Nicki Minaj

I miss Hannah Montana.

I know it's cliche these days to ramble on about Miley Cyrus and how far down the wrong path she's gone, but y'know what? She chose her path, let her live with it. But I do genuinely miss Hannah Montana.

I have a theory that the real Miley died some time between the H.M finale and the release of the deplorable We Can't Stop. Some tragic accident... Possibly from being smothered by an over-bearing Billy Ray... and has since then been replaced by Justin Beiber, thus explaining Beiber's gradual decline into drug-fueled debauchery; he simply cannot cope with the duel life of a famous transvestite. In replacing the real Miley, he has essentially become a real-life cross-dressing Hannah Montana, without the perks of hilarious sidekicks and every shoe in every style, every colour.

And so today a question arose; given the choice, which would be the lesser evil; having to join Miley in her current coccaine-fuelled carnation for a romantic evening of frolics, or spend the rest of your life stranded on a desert island with the multiple personalities embedded within the musical peacock that is Miss Nicki Minaj?

It's a tricky one, but there are two major factors to be considered when making this life-changing choice;

1) The annoying:amusing ratio

2) Induction of murderous rage

Let's begin with the date with Miley. Frankly, I couldn't imagine being able to put up with the company of Miss Cyrus for more than a grand total of two minutes. Harsh, yes, but after that initial "oh, it's Miley Cyrus" (see my previous entry on the joys of celebrity), she really has very little going for her. To look at, she is a train wreck, and will inevitably be sticking her tongue out like a handicapped giraffe for much of the evening. Her conversation will in no way be endearing, referring for the most part to her infamous addition to the English tongue (the word "twerk", not the aforementioned giraffe tongue) and her many, well advertised misdemeanours at parties of the rich and famous. She will inevitably attempt to do something shocking, be it straddling a table/waiter/nearby tractor, lighting up a crack-pipe mid-conversation or removing her clothes and causing general nausea. Honestly, I'm not sure I could cope with ten minutes, let alone a whole evening without a homicide occurring.

So, Nicki, it looks like we'll be spending an eternity on a desert island. But you know what? I don't think it'll be all that bad. Surely you can fashion something amusing to wear from the local foliage? True, you'll stuggle to get any more plastic surgery on the island, but I'm sure we can attach a coconut or two somewhere or other, and that would certainly match a palm-frond bikini. The multiple personalities in which you pride yourself would allow for a change in conversation when boredom inevitably sets in, and if all else fails, I'm sure you're buoyant enough for us to at least attempt an escape. And to be honest? I quite like your music. We all have our guilty pleasures... But try not to bang on...