Some future food stamp recipients have been arguing on comment threads about whether Justin Bieber’s Men’s Health magazine cover is Photoshopped. Let me save you the trouble, who gives a fuck. It appears the photo is real yet Bieber is flexing his twink extremities while trying to look casual. While this isn’t a genuine representation of what he looks like eating cereal it doesn’t necessarily mean there’s foul play involved. You can shove a a portable car jack down your boxers to make your dick look bigger and stand on step stool to appear more Tom Cruise in stature, that isn’t Photoshop, it’s just resourcefulness. Let’s stop abusing the term Photoshop and start verbally abusing Bieber at his MetRex appearances. Also you can’t take a selfie from ten yards away. I know you’re confused. Call your grandkids.
Nickleback lead Singer Chad Kroeger attacked fellow Canuck d-bag Justin Bieber for being a d-bag too. There’s obviously no side to root for here except the very precise meteor because most of Canada still deserves to live long enough to be raped of its oil deposits.
Read all about Chad’s feelings towards Justin. (TMZ)
Hot narcissitic chicks take steamy selfies in the mirror. (The Chive)
Jessica Lowndes bikinis like a fucking champ. (Egotastic)
Parks and Rec producer Harris Wittels dies of an apparent overdose. (Huffington Post)
The entire point of a celebrity roast is to see who can get liquored up and deliver the most outlandish slams on their fellow drinking buddies. It’s a universally understood concept by any man who’s ever drank too much with friends. It’s how men bond. And occasionally some cool women who you might want to get with after you’re too drunk to do anything about it. Sometimes the roast is funny, sometimes it sucks, but that’s the constant.
Justin Bieber doesn’t have witty cool friends and nobody wants to drink with him. He’s not the regular guy in the Miller commercial you identify with, he’s the dick drinking the pretentious cocktail. Comedy Central is roasting Justin Bieber because he’s famous and will draw a shitload of teen viewers who don’t even understand the goof. Also, he’s perfected the ‘c’mon, guys’ face for the people he’s never met who will be roasting him. We accept that Katy Perry comes out in a girdle with sharks at halftime to sing her hits. When the NFL insists she play QB for the team in the lead to promote fairness, that’s when we look for anything else sports on TV. Not that a Comedy Central Roast stands for much, but I suppose it stood for something. Now that something is gone. I’m starting to understand why old people are ready to pull the plug.
Justin Bieber lives in this dope Tony Stark futurama mansion. It comes with four bathrooms with cocaine already railed out on the porcelain counter tops. While I am waking up and tapping my thermometer this motherfucker has his hyperbaric pressure regulated to the nearest thousandth degree celsius. It also has one of those machines that tongues your butthole and a trash compactor and hover board. The rent on the place is $60,000 a month according to TMZ who went through his trash hoping to find the magical spent condom Harvey pays for in gold bullion.
That seems like a hefty bill until you realize how small of a percentage of his monthly pay check goes toward rent compared to fucks like us. In fact, Bieber could afford four of these places and a fighter jet to bomb the first three because he thinks he saw a scary spider in them. You don’t need a crib like this to be happy in life. But you do need it to get laid without any work whatsoever. Which turns out to be the single most important factor to being happy in life. That’s circular.
There’s some kind of quiet dignity in being a colossal dick. An arrogant ass who doesn’t give a fuck about anybody but himself and how he’s feeling from moment to moment. Not those small time punks who piss and moan. I mean one ginormous a-hole who fucks everything he pleases, pisses on his sycophants, and reminds you how he can buy you several times over. Justin Bieber. It wasn’t noble, but it was definitely remarkable.
This Justin Bieber ‘I’ve changed’ nonsense is simply disheartening. It’s like popping in on Bin Laden and he’s tearfully watching Precious. You don’t want to shoot that guy in the head. You want to give him a hug. Bieber’s whispered apology for being an arrogant dick these past eighteen months (he checked his calendar apparently) just makes him pathetic. In the end, you’ve left us with nothing, Justin. Well played, you tatted up miniaturized fuck.
Justin Bieber isn’t the first douchebag to pose for himself in the mirror in between sets at the gym. He’s just the one small enough for me to ridicule. Vanity is every bit as natural to the human condition as taking a dump. Most people flush. Bieber is that special flower who has to admire his own ringlets of perfection. At some point the workouts and the tattoos and ordering of the big-ass bodyguards won’t be enough. Bieber’s going to end up in some off the map part of Bangkok cage fighting tigers. Unless they’ve got very tiny tigers, Bieber’s finally going to meet his match. It will all be for naught unless somebody gets decent audio.