Posted by Jack @ 11:27 am on May 28th 2012

If you are “roughed up” by Justin Bieber, you tell no one. You live quietly with the shame, and take the knowledge of it to your grave.

Just saying.


  1. Actually, I hope this is the beginning of a Bieber Rampage, in which he begins exhibiting more and more episodes of spontaneous violence, which quickly begin escalating wildly in both severity and insanity, until he winds up like this guy, madly running around naked on freeways and city streets, streaked with blood and eating the faces of any pedestrians unlucky enough to cross his Bieber Path.

    Comment by Brad — 5/29/2012 @ 5:06 pm

  2. I hope, when he enters a room for a society party or record release shindig, he does so with his tiny fists clenched so hard his palms bleed as his fingernails dig in, his rams ramrod rigid at his side, his stupid haircut matted with flop sweat, his beady eyes darting wildly around the room as he cuts through the crowd, who all seem to just disintegrate away as he walks through.

    I hope when a city hosts him for a concert, the town fathers call a curfew that lasts from his arrival until his departure, and parents locks their children in their bedrooms, and elders take watch on the porch clutching shotguns, startled by every breeze, every breaking twig, knowing that somewhere, this night, the Beiber is out there.

    I hope, when he fills a concert venue, he performs exactly as he does now, and the only difference is that the audience, seas and seas of preteen girls, spend the entire three hours crying, huddling together for a comfort that never comes, flinching and gasping in terror at his every hip shake, his every bang flip. The best future that can be hoped for any of them, or the ones that do not leave catatonic, never to be reached again, is a life of stoic labor, eyes flitted against the sun in the fields, bent over, but with the Bieber never far from their darkest thoughts. And maybe they’ll have children, and maybe they’ll have happy moments, but always one has the sense, in speaking with them, that a dark cloud looms large over their minds, and even on their very death bed, their thoughts won’t drift to their grandchildren or the family farm, but will be pulled, inexorably, back to the Beib, as they die with eyes wide, hands clutched on the blankets they pulled to their eyes, and souls blackened and stained and never again truly their own.

    I hope, for media appearances, he has to be wheeled out like Hannibal Lector, and reporters have to be provided with a long list of questions to not ask, topics not to broach, things that render it inadvisable for them to be in the same room as the Bieber, such as women who are ovulating or men who have recently visited steakhouses or brothels. And every once in awhile, an E! News reporter will blithely choose to not heed these stoic reminders, in the form of a celebrity rider carved into ancient stone presented to them by a man in a grey robe, face obscured, as the reporter, fixing her hair in the vanity in her dressing room, only thinks of the boost to their career that will come with getting the scoop on his Malibu vacation with Selena Gomez, the scoop of scoops!, and the result of the ensuing interview about his 3D Imax concert film is horrible, so horrible…

    Comment by Brad — 5/29/2012 @ 5:19 pm

  3. And even in a world in which all of that becomes true, I would STILL side with him in any conflict with the paparazzi.

    It should be legal to hunt those people for sport.

    Comment by Rojas — 5/29/2012 @ 5:43 pm

  4. Brad, Are you at a writers’ workshop working your opening page for Bieber slash fic? Working title: Filthy Shapes of Play

    Rojas, its a tough call for me. An entire subgroup of people who have desperately sought fame their whole lives, indeed in Beiber’s case he effectively crows sourced his entire fame, only to realize that “gasp” fame means having people want to know your every move. And them versus those that, carrion like, feed off said fame. They have earned each other.

    Comment by Jack — 5/29/2012 @ 9:02 pm

  5. The only carrion feeding here will be from the Bieber. At the Barnes and Nobel in New York City, 82nd and Broadway. He’ll be there for a celebration and signing of his critically acclaimed memoir, First Step 2 Forever (Amazon: $14.95), and all 9 to 16 year old girls within the 1002 zip codes will be forced to draw lots. It’s a somber affair – lines several city blocks long of tweens and their mothers, the tweens clutching their hardcover copies drenched in sweat and tears, their mothers hovering over them, hands on their shoulders, trying to put on a brave face. When the 1000 girls are chosen for The Signing, nobody wants to admit it, but the parents of the girls who went unselected will secretly rejoice, their hearts singing with joy, and they have to live with that forever.

    On the day of the signing, the Bieber signs books. Every third person, he dots the i in his name with a heart. Every sixth, he forces them to take a picture on their phones cheek-to-cheek with the teen idol. And every tenth, he feeds.

    He feeds.

    Comment by Brad — 5/29/2012 @ 10:04 pm

  6. There’s no stopping what can’t be stopped. No killing what can’t be killed. His foundation lies in the holy mountains.

    Comment by Brad — 5/30/2012 @ 4:20 am

  7. I think Brad has been doing him some ‘bath salts’.

    Comment by James — 5/30/2012 @ 2:03 pm

  8. And it is but a short step from there to face eating.

    Comment by Jack — 5/31/2012 @ 1:37 pm

  9. But perhaps, in the days of darkness under the cover of rolling clouds, a ray of light has broken through, illuminating, perhaps, a way forward.

    Perhaps, mankind has finally declared, in one voice:

    “We will not go quietly into the night!
    We will not vanish without a fight!
    We’re going to live on!
    We’re going to survive!”

    Perhaps, today, is our independence day.

    Comment by Brad — 6/1/2012 @ 10:13 am

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