Last night, a million children were robbed of their innocence. Last night, a million parents were reminded that even the family home is not safe from the intrusion of today’s anything-goes culture of blasphemy and false idolatry. Last night, Hannah Montana was sacrificed on the Video Music Award stage, and from her blooded body rose a beast that was one part S&M mannequin and one part gremlin. 

When Miley Cyrus took the stage to perform the lead off single from her new album Bangerz, she crawled across the black top in a white wedding dress. Within seconds, she was thrusting her hindquarters into the face of her backup dancers. Not long after, she fell to the floor and began to engage in simulated sexual congress with a one square foot piece of well-trod plywood. The floor then gave birth to a dozen priests in biker shorts. And then Black Jesus descended from the rafters wearing a T-shirt advertising Iron Man 3 on DVD. It’s out Sept. 24.

Once Black Jesus’ feet touched the floor, Cyrus ran to him and they made out for 45 very uncomfortable seconds. The music hall was silent except for the sounds of sloppy kissing, well-rehearsed moans, and the hissing of the biker priests.

Suddenly, the priests grabbed Black Jesus as a cross decorated in debit cards and student loan applications rose from the floor. The Messiah wept and Cyrus twerked. When the biker priests had finished tying Black Jesus to the cross, the lights went out and the cross burst in flames. Rob Lowe danced with Snow White in a dream sequence.

When flames died down and the lights came back on, Cyrus was wearing a sheer outfit and quoting the Yorick speech from Hamlet to an albino snake. Without warning, Warren Beatty appeared only roller skates. He flashed gang signs as he quickly darted across the stage. On the video screen, Sinead O’Conner tore up a picture of herself while the Dixie Chicks’ Natalie Maines scrawled the preamble to the Constitution across her chest in peanut butter and pancake batter. And then she and O’Conner jumped into a volcano of boiling duck fat.

By this time Cyrus had began making out with all three dozen of her female backup dancers, all of whom were clothed in steak bikinis and chicken-fried assless chaps. And then they fell on the former pop tart, pulling her apart, robotic limb by limb by limb.

When they stepped back, a new Cyrus had appeared. She was bald and the hair from her eyebrows had been shaved. Without warning she started goosestepping across the stage in knee-high Crocs while sieg heiling to a giant postage stamp of the Obama Rodeo Clown. 

The next 30 seconds were a Vitamix blur of mind-boggling images: Fiona Apple married a turkey, Howard Stern choked on the smell of his own flatulence, Kanye West stole the microphone from Miley’s hands and swallowed it whole, Axl Rose’s corn-rows strangled Comic the Insult Dog, the entire cast of Glee appeared alongside the University of Southern Cal marching band to sign Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” to a team of sweat-shop children sewing rhinestones on to leggings and leggings onto rhinestones, a Tupac Shakur hologram shat on the floor, and Prince recited incantations out of the Necronomicomiccon. J.J. Abrams appeared, followed by Joss Whedon, both of who have high profile projects in the works — Star Wars and The Avengers: Age of Ultron, respectively.

Amid all the chaos and confusion, everyone who saw the performance — both in the audience and at home — nodded their heads in unison. Finally, they were able to understand: This is why MTV doesn’t play videos anymore. And there’s nothing shocking about that.