For the first time in his pitiful existence, Justin Bieber is getting our hopes up by mentioning his impending retirement. In the wake of his sh*tty album and sh*tty new movie, Justin has announced that he is “officially retiring.”
(And sh*tty publicity, i.e. driving under the influence of
apple juice and chocolate milk God knows what, calling a young girl a “beached whale,” and generally being a manorexic, pedostache-having toolbox with a terribly mismatched 11″ ego and pencil dick.)
Alas, seeing that Justin is a supernatural tween magnet twenty times more powerful than One Direction, ‘N Sync, Backstreet Boys and New Kids on the Block combined, it is unlikely that this is actually going to happen. I doubt that he can be killed with fire or anything else, and I foresee him coming back like a particularly aggressive case of psoriasis or anal warts.
Like Cher, he will probably do yearly “farewell” tours with Chris Brown and anyone else you ever dreamed of stabbing in the collarbone and feeding to rabid skeevers.