Since I'm not 12, Justin Bieber didn't explode into my consciousness like a white-hot supernova with a terrible haircut. No, instead he more or less seeped into my consciousness, like a slime mold with a terrible haircut. Now, I don't have a cold and dead heart and I can appreciate the sugary sweetness of a pop hit as much as the next person, but everything about this sawed-off little suburban nightmare makes my skin crawl.
Take a Xanax so you won't leap from your chair and smash your monitor and then we'll discuss:
Ugh. Ugh. It hurts so bad. Let's just start with the very disturbing fact that this little shit is apparently some type of teen sex idol and his fucking voice hasn't changed. I'm all for exploitation, but that is fucking creepy.
Then there's the faux-gangsta dialect he employs when his Good Friend Usher calls. Now, I imagine in real life and definitely in the world of this video, the only hardship JB has ever known is when he was late to soccer practice or Safeway was out of Honey Nut Cheerios, but you can tell he is DOWN because he says "Yo, Usher," and immediately affects a Fake Black Dialect and says "I can do dat."
I'm not even going to get into the song, an over-compressed, terribly-written, Autotuned-to-the-Gates-of-Hell piece of shit. I will point out that he addresses a young female suburbanite as "Shorty." I know I'm going to come off sounding like an Angry Oldster or a Dangerous Crank, but this really does suck.
#41: Fake Cheetos
I know you're eating macrobiotic and basically you have seaweed for lunch and you share a diet plan with a mature guinea pig and you would never eat swordfish because A it's overfished and B do you know how much mercury is in that? But when you lock the door and get ready to watch Every Mother's Worst Fear with Cheryl Ladd on Lifetime Movies Network, please at least have the dignity to buy ACTUAL CHEETOS, which are awesome and a gift from God, and not some fake Cheetos shit that I wouldn't even give my dog. Thank you.
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