You wake up, and stretch by twerking. You eat your favorite breakfast, a nice, hearty meal of Miley ass. Delish. You go outside, squeezing your asscheeks around the doorknob
All the while twerking.
You greet people on your way to work. They say hi, and you do the average greeting of twerking back to back. Or, should I say, ass to ass.
Yes, you go about your way to work, smiling, talking, and twerking. Yes, twerk. Twerk. Fucking twerk your way through the city, Mileyville, capital of the United Asses of Cyrus. You come across a stature of Miley Cyrus twerking, and by law you have to twerk for ten minutes with your ass pointed at her.
And then, those dumb "rebel dancers" come along. They do the Harlem Shake, the Shuffle, the Sprinkler, and the Foxtrot.
You twerk them to death.
And so you continue twerking at Miley. But uh oh
you have to shit.
But you can't stop twerking. You'll have to- oh no.
Prepare yourselves, citizens. Incoming Shittwerk. Oh, this will be messy.