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Its another boring day in Canada. . . but wait.
Listen:
The dullness of the day is cut through by the screams of an eighteen year old girl. She lays in a hospital bed, her hands clenched against her supports, her voice spouting out terrible groans and noises that only women in labor and dying cows make. The woman is Ms. Pattie Mallette, a devout Christian who had dreams of becoming an actress, dreams which were shattered after she, like a good Christian, got knocked up by some random dude at the ripe old age of eighteen. Despite the unexpected circumstances of a child, Pattie followed her faith, and prayed to God every night. By her third trimester her prayers became more and more specific, and by the time that little Justin Bieber was born, on March 1st, 1994, she had asked God to "use her son as a modern Prophet Samuel, a voice of a generation." (source)
Pattie would need her faith, for surely raising a child can be rather difficult for a single parent, especially one that is only eighteen. She worked odd jobs and she and her son some how got by, and Justin was raised to be normal enough. For Pattie her faith wouldn't be tested again until a Jewish man with a head for making money and an ear tuned for the songs of tiny birds, came to cage her son and put him in the music business after hearing one of Justin's youtube videos. Despite being a kid who played sports, Justin also posted youtube video's of him singing Usher songs and dancing, and until Scooter Braun saw them, Justin was performing purely for an audience of tweens around the country whos chemical driven crushes they easily confused as true love.
That day with Scooter Braun, was one which Pattie both celebrated and loathed. She was happy that her son had been discovered, she was happy that perhaps this could be his chance to become a prophet. . . That perhaps God was indeed doing his work, through her son, Justin Bieber. . . But she was troubled by the fact that this man, Scooter Braun was a Jew.
"God," she prayed. "you don't want this Jewish kid to be Justin's man, do you?"
She was further perplexed by the fact that he was from an Atlanta based rap label. . .
"God, I gave him to you. You could send me a Christian man, a Christian label."
But then Scooter Braun threw some money in her face.
And just like that Justin and mommy packed their shit and moved to Atlanta.
And just like that Justin starting doing some demos.
And just like that Justin had a date with his idol, Usher.
The two of them went to a carnival, and ate cotton candy, and Usher even won Justin a giant stuffed lizard when he knocked down all the milk bottles at a carnival game with one throw. (Justin still has that giant stuffed lizard. . . ) They had a great date, and even sealed it with a kiss at the top of the ferris wheel.
So in love.
So with a boyfriend in Usher, and a daddy in Scooter Braun, Justin Bieber really only needed one more thing to become the next closet fag adored by tons of pussy (albeit young, retarded pussy): a swagger coach. Luckily his boyfriend has been in the business for awhile, and already had the perfect guy in mind: the same man that shaped and modeled him as a teen pop star: Mr. Ryan Good. Ryan is responsible for Justin's mannerism on and off stage, right down to every annoying hair flip. Collectively, it is the duty of all three of them to take care of Justin Bieber, even if this means occasionally 'tag-teaming' him in the hotel room.
Aside from these three men, Justin also has a personal tutor, and a whole team of adults who monitor his every action and make sure he maintains his marketable image. With these adults on his side, Justin released his debut album, My World in 2009, and it immediately was sucked up and adored by preteens and their crazy egocentric mothers. The album sold 137,000 copies alone in the first day, and peaked at number five on the Top Ten Billboard List.
At this time the balloon was just begging to swell, or perhaps it was already swollen.
Justin was big on Radio Disney I suppose, he was big somewhere, amongst some people.
Swelling. . .
The success of Justin's My World can be proven easily by the number of deaths his performances generate. There of course were those three young girls who were hospitalized during a Bieber performace at The Battlecreek Mall; that mother who broke her spine chasing Bieber for an autograph (she fell and was trampled by the following stampede of other autograph hungry fans;) and of course those foolsih girls who asked Bieber for a hug, and when he didn't comply, promptly killed themselves, being unable to live in a world where Justin Bieber didn't want them. . . And on the outside of these concerts, right there at the fringe, are fathers (the only ride the girl could get) standing amongst one another, sipping beers secretively, as to not be conspicous, and they're all grumbling...
"I just don't like it." One spits. He shakes his head. "I just don't like it."
All of them staring out at the sea of girls, watching like surfers watch a dangerous tide, all of them conscious of that fact that those waters just may suck them under, just take their lives if they aren't careful. . .
"Yep. . ." A contemptuous snort. "I just don't like it."
Swelling. . . like the tide.
The mere presence of the boy is a powerful thing; sight of him turns young girls into ravenous beasts far too overcome by a sudden surge of inexplicable feelings to do anything other than belt out ear splitting screams and intense sobbing. . . But why do kids feel so strongly about Bieber?
Well, he is said to be made by his YouTube fan base, or so they will cross themselves up and down and swear to. This has resulted in many Justin Bieber wars, by the twelve year girls who love him, and the twelve year old boys who hate him, because they AREN'T HIM. Case in point, this little doucher:
If you think about it, being Justin Bieber totally sucks balls. You've got a mother who's a total Jesus freak and has delusions that perhaps you are just the thing that this world is looking for (and not another product.) Your father is an adopted one, and the only real resemblance of a dad, in that he's always there to scold you and remind you that there is business to be done. But he's not your real dad... Your real dad you only talk to on occasion over an impersonal phone.
You're deeply in love with a black man, but you can't love him openly, because doing so would ruin your image, and you'd no longer be a useful object to use to sell sex to little girls. You've got a whole image team that follows you around to make sure that you don't slip up, because slipping up would be the worst thing you could ever do. Failure, is not an option.
And when you fuck up, you get scolded every damn time.
Its not life for a boy.
No life for a boy in love with a grown black man.
Its like caging a bird.
And on top of that you have to pretend you like all these girls who rave over your laboriously. . . Throngs of retarded fans that steal your shit and try desperately to hug you. Stupid bitches like this:
Aside from these three men, Justin also has a personal tutor, and a whole team of adults who monitor his every action and make sure he maintains his marketable image. With these adults on his side, Justin released his debut album, My World in 2009, and it immediately was sucked up and adored by preteens and their crazy egocentric mothers. The album sold 137,000 copies alone in the first day, and peaked at number five on the Top Ten Billboard List.
At this time the balloon was just begging to swell, or perhaps it was already swollen.
Justin was big on Radio Disney I suppose, he was big somewhere, amongst some people.
Swelling. . .
The success of Justin's My World can be proven easily by the number of deaths his performances generate. There of course were those three young girls who were hospitalized during a Bieber performace at The Battlecreek Mall; that mother who broke her spine chasing Bieber for an autograph (she fell and was trampled by the following stampede of other autograph hungry fans;) and of course those foolsih girls who asked Bieber for a hug, and when he didn't comply, promptly killed themselves, being unable to live in a world where Justin Bieber didn't want them. . . And on the outside of these concerts, right there at the fringe, are fathers (the only ride the girl could get) standing amongst one another, sipping beers secretively, as to not be conspicous, and they're all grumbling...
"I just don't like it." One spits. He shakes his head. "I just don't like it."
All of them staring out at the sea of girls, watching like surfers watch a dangerous tide, all of them conscious of that fact that those waters just may suck them under, just take their lives if they aren't careful. . .
"Yep. . ." A contemptuous snort. "I just don't like it."
Swelling. . . like the tide.
The mere presence of the boy is a powerful thing; sight of him turns young girls into ravenous beasts far too overcome by a sudden surge of inexplicable feelings to do anything other than belt out ear splitting screams and intense sobbing. . . But why do kids feel so strongly about Bieber?
Well, he is said to be made by his YouTube fan base, or so they will cross themselves up and down and swear to. This has resulted in many Justin Bieber wars, by the twelve year girls who love him, and the twelve year old boys who hate him, because they AREN'T HIM. Case in point, this little doucher:
So his video is out, and he's walking around the elementary yard, and he's noticing something. . . All these girls ignoring him. . . It becomes clear, hating on Justin Bieber doesn't get you pussy, at least in the fourth grade it doesn't. . . So what happens months later, as soon as he's saved up enough money? He gets himself a Justin Bieber haircut and his name in The New York Times in a puff piece about a sudden trend amongst young teens, that trend being: Justin Bieber haircuts. . . A tasteful interview he did over the phone in the kitchen to a woman all the way over in New York. . . (Would have loved to hear that retarded interview by the way. . .) He's totally changed his opinion about the guy, and can't stop fucking with his hair. Now he's totally Pro-Justin Bieber.
Way to go asshole. I hope that one kiss you finally got from a girl is worth looking like a total douche bag with a haircut that is basically a bowl cut. If anything, its only made you more annoying, as if the obnoxious red hair and the abundance of energy wasn't enough, now you've made yourself to always be forced to carry around a comb. Way to go. But I'm ahead of myself. I keep forgetting he's just a kid, a retarded little kid. . .
Hypocrisy is just a big word when you're only 12, like onomatopoeia, a word you don't even know the meaning of, but sure sounds fancy and sophisticated.
And so the wind is blown out of iR's sails: "You wouldn't make fun of a bunch of children, now would you? Surely you had an irrational crush all of your own, right?"
Nope. I was never a child.
Hypocrisy is just a big word when you're only 12, like onomatopoeia, a word you don't even know the meaning of, but sure sounds fancy and sophisticated.
And so the wind is blown out of iR's sails: "You wouldn't make fun of a bunch of children, now would you? Surely you had an irrational crush all of your own, right?"
Nope. I was never a child.
If you think about it, being Justin Bieber totally sucks balls. You've got a mother who's a total Jesus freak and has delusions that perhaps you are just the thing that this world is looking for (and not another product.) Your father is an adopted one, and the only real resemblance of a dad, in that he's always there to scold you and remind you that there is business to be done. But he's not your real dad... Your real dad you only talk to on occasion over an impersonal phone.
You're deeply in love with a black man, but you can't love him openly, because doing so would ruin your image, and you'd no longer be a useful object to use to sell sex to little girls. You've got a whole image team that follows you around to make sure that you don't slip up, because slipping up would be the worst thing you could ever do. Failure, is not an option.
And when you fuck up, you get scolded every damn time.
Its not life for a boy.
No life for a boy in love with a grown black man.
Its like caging a bird.
And on top of that you have to pretend you like all these girls who rave over your laboriously. . . Throngs of retarded fans that steal your shit and try desperately to hug you. Stupid bitches like this:
Look ma, we're dumb!
Emah Hira Maito, aged seventeen and her friend (nameless,) who ran up on Bieber and stole his favorite hat, and yes although it is quite retarded to have a favorite hat, this young little lass though it would be a good idea to hold it for RANSOM, yes RANSOM, yet she was not looking for money. . . She was looking for a hug. Needless to say the COPS had a thing or two to say about it, and the BITCH never got her HUG.
And if this wasn't a good enough representation of that craze that runs through these young girls minds, when they returned that hat, the two of them included their phone numbers and their twitter accounts with the vague and utter retarded notion that, MAYBE, just MAYBE Justin will forget about all the crazy stalker antics and chose them, just pluck them up like daisies amongst the millions of throngs of young girls who all hope for him to do the same to them. . . just pluck them up like daisies.
Emah is still waiting by the phone. . .
Patiently. . . waiting. . .
So where does this place Justin Bieber on the iR scale of retardation? Well considering the fact that he's already gone through puberty, and his voice has indeed changed, making some of those higher notes impossible to reach, and the fact that pop music flows regardless of a person's hardwork, that Justin Bieber is deserving of an all new definition of retardation. Further compounded by the fact that he is litterally one major slip up from completely polarizing every young girl's feelings about him, fickle as they are, Infinitely Retarded declares Justin Bieber, finitely retarded.
finite retardation - n - retardation in an individual that is not constant and eventually ends. Although this retardation may span a longer period of time, it does indeed have a starting point and an ending point, quite unlike Infinite retardation, which is perpetual. Victims of this retardation are said to be "finitely retarded."
And Justin's case, he'll find himself a bottle, grow old, and wither and die in one.
Just like the worm.
*Due to the gonzo nature of iR, all facts surely must be straightened out. Here are really the facts, really...
Justin Bieber is Canadian.
His mom is a Jesus freak, did pray to God to make him a Prophet Samuel, and was distraught when a Jewish man came to try and represent her son.
Usher finds Justin Bieber to be like a son. They are not actually lovers... (At least not publicly.)
Justin twitters a lot, and its all retarded dribble.
Justin has been nominated for many awards, but all he's ever won is a moonman from TRL Italy...
He's only had one album reach number one, and that was only in Canada alone.
Bieber's got a team of what looks like over 50 people, who handle everything from writing his songs to managing the money to yada yada and etc etc.
Bieber's concerts and appearances do get out of hand, many goers report minor injuries with all the scuffling and hub-bub going about, no deaths reported however, :( sad face.
Bieber is not gay, although if you ask 12 year old boys they will all say that he is, and that he sings like a girl "And that is why I hate him."
Bieber really is a youtube sensation, was before Scooter ever scooped him up. There really are pointless and mind numbing war videos between Justin's lovers and Justin's haters. . . Just look it up if you believe me not, but I warn you, though there are bits of hilarity, much of is retardation.
Bieber wears ball caps all the time. . . I don't like this style, cocked to one side, this I like not. And this, yes is irrelevant.
Did I mention he's Canadian?
love,
iR
Emah is still waiting by the phone. . .
Patiently. . . waiting. . .
So where does this place Justin Bieber on the iR scale of retardation? Well considering the fact that he's already gone through puberty, and his voice has indeed changed, making some of those higher notes impossible to reach, and the fact that pop music flows regardless of a person's hardwork, that Justin Bieber is deserving of an all new definition of retardation. Further compounded by the fact that he is litterally one major slip up from completely polarizing every young girl's feelings about him, fickle as they are, Infinitely Retarded declares Justin Bieber, finitely retarded.
finite retardation - n - retardation in an individual that is not constant and eventually ends. Although this retardation may span a longer period of time, it does indeed have a starting point and an ending point, quite unlike Infinite retardation, which is perpetual. Victims of this retardation are said to be "finitely retarded."
And Justin's case, he'll find himself a bottle, grow old, and wither and die in one.
Just like the worm.
*Due to the gonzo nature of iR, all facts surely must be straightened out. Here are really the facts, really...
Justin Bieber is Canadian.
His mom is a Jesus freak, did pray to God to make him a Prophet Samuel, and was distraught when a Jewish man came to try and represent her son.
Usher finds Justin Bieber to be like a son. They are not actually lovers... (At least not publicly.)
Justin twitters a lot, and its all retarded dribble.
Justin has been nominated for many awards, but all he's ever won is a moonman from TRL Italy...
He's only had one album reach number one, and that was only in Canada alone.
Bieber's got a team of what looks like over 50 people, who handle everything from writing his songs to managing the money to yada yada and etc etc.
Bieber's concerts and appearances do get out of hand, many goers report minor injuries with all the scuffling and hub-bub going about, no deaths reported however, :( sad face.
Bieber is not gay, although if you ask 12 year old boys they will all say that he is, and that he sings like a girl "And that is why I hate him."
Bieber really is a youtube sensation, was before Scooter ever scooped him up. There really are pointless and mind numbing war videos between Justin's lovers and Justin's haters. . . Just look it up if you believe me not, but I warn you, though there are bits of hilarity, much of is retardation.
Bieber wears ball caps all the time. . . I don't like this style, cocked to one side, this I like not. And this, yes is irrelevant.
Did I mention he's Canadian?
love,
iR
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