The monologue had me wishing Whoopi Goldberg, who made a cameo for Black History Month, had strangling-length dreads.
Here’s the issue. Justin didn’t try to be funny because he knows he doesn’t have to for his fans to say it was amazeballs. His mental and physical growth has been stunted by fame. Those vocals too. I mean, with that perma-cold, I could sing just as well.
And sing he did. Not only as the music act, but as the host, as if the stage was just another Believe Tour pit stop (and a p*ssy-ass platform to say he’s “never gonna do” drugs again).
If you’re reading this as a female Bieb-loving wacko, know that it’s not your fault…
Your urge to rock Justin, with his rosy cheeks, uncalloused hands and mother-kissing lips, back and forth in your arms is a natural response to a baby-obsessed society where children grow up pushing toy strollers, maternally brushing Skipper’s hair.