It’s been a confusing few days for the paparazzi. First Tina Fey trades bodies with Alec Baldwin and tells a photographer to ‘go fuck himself’ when he asks a question about the ongoing Taylor Swift drama, and now Justin Bieber seems to think he weighs approximately one hundred pounds more than he does and is throwing his tiny elfen body at them, yelping out oddly optimistic threats of violence. He aggressively pushed his way through a clump of photographers on the way to his car, and one was annoyed enough that he spoke up, saying Justin should ‘fuck off back to America’ and calling him a ‘fucking little moron’. At which point Justin pops his head back out of the car like a fucking groundhog and goes, “What the fuck you say??” like he’s looking for a fight. The paparazzo responds with, “You heard what I fucking said, mate”, and Justin explodes. He leaps out of the car like a squirrel, screaming, “I’ll beat the fuck out of you!” squirming in his bald bodyguard’s arms and batting the air like a kitten. I mean come on. This kid is fighting no one. He weighs about seventy pounds sopping wet, and he hardly even puts up a fight when he gets bundled back into the car.
What worries me most is how different his perception of himself is from my perception of him. He loves pulling up his shirt to show off his scrawny manboy abs and little chicken limbs, with a sultry look on his face like he’s giving us all ladyboners. But no, Justin, you’ve not even brought me to half-mast with your weird onesies and your shirtless antics and your absurd notions of violence against people three times your size. You’re in a heavy spiral, man. Pump those brakes.