Justin Bieber. I don’t get it.
When I was a kid, granted some of my crushes were pretty questionable—Kirk Cameron? Corey Haim (RIP)? Kip Winger? Well, at least Kip Winger had chest hair. My ultimate love was, of course, River Phoenix. After watching “Stand By Me,” in which a 12-year-old-ish Phoenix rocked a grungy white T-shirt like a man, I was sold.
I met a woman who dated River Phoenix when I first moved to NYC. I was like, “Oh, my God! Oh, my God! What was he like?”
“Fucked up,” she said.
Anyway, I just do not get this Justin Bieber thing. I mean, are the girls of America so hard up that this is what passes for a tween-age heartthrob these days? I could not imagine even trying to get my 14-year-old rocks off on a twin bed with pictures of this asshole splattered around my room. Impossible. At least my teen masturbation material included such heroes as Bo Duke, Luke Skywalker and the Hoff (Hey, David Hasselhoff was pretty studly in “Knight Rider,” so don’t hate too much.)
But Bieber? What does he bring to the table? Got no throwdown. Sounds like a girl. Dresses like a Wal-Mart ad. What gives?
And so, after watching Bieber-mania on E! this a.m., I have decided that I want to do things to Justin Bieber. Here are those things:
1. Have a pillow fight with him.
2. Shave his head.
3. Make him give me a pedicure.
4. Balance things on his newly bald head.
5. Pin his eyes open, make him watch DVDs of “Headbanger’s Ball” over and over again.
6. Pin his eyes open, make him watch Jonas Brothers videos over and over again.
7. Make him wear Love’s Baby Soft.
8. Take him to a gay leather bar, while wearing Love’s Baby Soft.
9. Make him smoke a pack of Camels. Unfiltered wides.
10. Make him write me a check for $2 million.
11. Take him to the South Side of Chicago. Make him flash gang signs.
12. Make him have sex with a girl.
12. Make him buy me this miniature pony.