The One I CAN'T EVEN
Okay, can we talk about this? No, go on, watch. I'll wait.
So, let's re-cap:
Nameless, faceless friend who comes to a random conclusion without any prompting: I'm a one bike kind of guy
A cute, shaggy blond Australian kid (who needs a distinctive hairstyle if he's ever going to come up against the Bieber) rolls up in a delicate peach sweatshirt. His sassy little phone rings--a text message! But what's this? 143? Is this code only young,
nubile pop stars can interpret after inhaling the the fumes of the make up artist's extra-hold hairspray? Is the ";-)" the key to breaking this code?
Nameless, faceless one-bike-kind-of-guy: New flavor of the week?
The Justin Timberlake to Bieber's Nick Carter: You don't even know man.
No, man, I don't know. YOU ARE A CHILD!!!! YOU ARE BASICALLY A FETUS!! NO AMOUNT OF BIKE CHOREOGRAPHY IS GOING TO DISTRACT ME FROM THIS FACT. GO HOME AND PLAY WITH YOUR TOYS OR SOMETHING. WHAT ARE YOU DOING ROAMING AROUND IN THOSE BERMUDA SHORTS??? AND STAY AWAY FROM THAT AMERICAN APPAREL WEARING HUSSY!!
Someone, somewhere decided that the entity known as Bieber has reigned unchallenged in the hearts of pre-pubescent boys and girls everywhere for too long. Clearly, that someone needs to be locked in a room with this song on loop for at least 48 hours.
(Actually, I'm a little scared of what the Bieber fangirls are going to do to this kid. Those hyenas do not play nice. They can smell danger to their sweet prince like blood on the wind. Ask Kim Kardashian.)