Friends, Fellow Bloggers, and Cracked.com Editor Extraordinaire Jack O’Brien- I owe you all an apology. Maybe it was the remarkable amount of Mabisms that kept showing up week after week after week. Or maybe it was the fact that, because the Cracked Commenting Community was so relentless and shameless with their graphic pursuit of destroying Hannah Montana’s Biography, Daniel Terhorst, (co-founder of Biographicon), actually contacted us to let us know that he compromised his intentions and locked both Hannah and Miley Cyrus’s Biographicon pages. Maybe I realized that this whole thing was bigger than me, too big for me to control. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I have a heart after all. Whatever the reason, you may have noticed that I’ve slowed down in my Anti-Hannah Propaganda as of late. While I was passionate and, perhaps, even obsessive at the beginning, my focus in the recent weeks has shifted to simpler, gentler things like spousal abuse and shit-eating. What can I say? It was a moment of weakness. While I was taking a few weeks off and reflecting on the possible consequences of systematically destroying a fifteen year old both professionally and emotionally, the fifteen year old in question was certainly

not resting. If I had to guess, I’d say she was sitting on her recently polished throne of orphan skulls, hissing and wondering what she could possibly do that would piss me off the most. Well, let me be the first to say, mission accomplished, you puppy-eating thunder bitch. Recently, the director and star of the hit break-dancing drama/emotional rollercoaster Step Up 2: The Streets posted a youtube video wherein they challenged that bitch who plays Hannah Montana to an “online dance competition.” That, in and of itself, isn’t really offensive to me in anyway. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s totally fucking retarded, but does it bother me? Not particularly, no. Hannah MonSnakeMonster decided to answer the challenge by posting a video featuring her and her dance crew doing some impressive moves. The name of that dance crew? The M&M Cru. You know another “crew” that carried the nickname “M&M,” you raging serpent? My fucking street-vigilante duo. Dedicated followers of the blog will remember that, before we were bloggers, Gladstone and I worked as costumed street-vigilantes in Rhode Island, dubbed “M&M” by the media, because of our names, (I was “Machete,” Gladstone was “Mace.” Guess what weapons we used to fight crime?). If you want to do a bunch of crappy cartwheels and back flips to win some stupid loser dance competition for fatheads, go ahead and do it, Miley, no one gives a shit. But did you

really think I wouldn’t notice that you stole our name for your giant-mouthed dance team? Really?! No. You knew I’d find out, Miley. You wanted me to see this, but why? Is it because you’re a huge bitch? (Yes.) M&M stood for candy when we came across it, Miley, and now it stands for Justice, (Justice that, incidentally, also melts in your mouth, not in your hands). That title commands respect, respect that we earned when we worked tirelessly to rid Providence of the violent and merciless Checnyan Mob. Do you really want to shit all over our name? Because that’s what you’re doing. You’re taking a Texas-sized elephant shit all over the name that Gladstone and I spent three years (on and off) building up. And for what? For a stupid dance challenge that you don't even stand a chance of winning? (Seriously, you don't. That motherfucker who played Moose is, like, the Daniel O'Brien of underground street break-dancing.) I never should have let my guard down. The second I stop posting about you, you pull a stunt like this. Ruining my good name for absolutely no reason. What have I ever done to you? .... This situation does, however, bring up an interesting opportunity. As long as you're answering challenges that people post on the internet, Montana, why not mine?

The Challenge I, Daniel "Machete" O'Brien, The Archbishop of Hip Hop, The [Mostly] White Dolemite, hereby officially challenge you, Hannah "Snakemonster" Montana, to a Bare-Knuckle Boxing match. We can meet wherever you'd like at whatever time you'd like. No referees. No cameras. Just you and me, Hannah Montana. Bare-Knuckle Boxing. If you'd rather have a rumble, you are more than welcome to bring your moron loser dance crew for jerks, provided I can bring Mace out of retirement. I just think we should settle this, Montana. In the rain, like they did in Step Up 2: The Streets. Maybe surrounded by a ring of fire, if we can make that happen. I don't know if we'll be able to with the rain, but I'd like that if we can get it.

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