Justin Bieber, the singing mister-sister with shiny Northern hair and Brillo Pad eyebrows and a growth hormone deficit (we can’t scare the 11-year-old girls, right?) is shit.
You had no idea where we were going with that, did you? We surprise ourselves.
He’s also an arrogant shit. An arrogant little shit. An arrogant little shit with hair that works our reserve nerve, which is already on the brink after accidentally stumbling across Kylie’s performance on Jools Holland’s New Year’s Eve Hogmanay Night Before Christmas My Old Joanna Eggstravaganza whilst researching the phenomenon of delusion.
Evidence of Justin Bieber’s arrogance is splattered all across the latest Vanity Fair, which also has him on the cover covered in kisses in several shades of crazy. A cover idea so startling in its genius its little wonder Vanity Fair is what it is.
‘Not trying to be arrogant,’ says Justin, ‘but if I walked down the street and a girl saw me, she might take a look back because maybe I’m good-looking, right?’
No, it’s because they think you’re Madeleine McCann.
‘I’m not normal,’ he-she continues. ‘I think differently. My mind is always racing. I’m just… nuts. But I think the best (musicians) probably are.’
‘I’m influenced by Boyz II Men.’
Jesus fucking Christ.
Oh, and before anyone says, ‘He’s 16. Of course he’s arrogant’: Sixteen-year-olds are far too busy sticking Fab lollies up gentlemen’s behinds and experimenting with ADD prescription medicines and measuring each other’s penises and happy-slapping Anne Widdecombes on buses and reading the entire works of Thomas Hardy and nurturing a life-long loyalty to no more than three brands of cosmetics and coming over all Lolita with the married guy across the street to ever be arrogant.
Jesus Christ, what’s wrong with famouses these days?