It’s baffling to me just how much press Justin Bieber is getting for his arrest. I mean, really, people — this is what constitutes as news nowadays? What about the fact that people (including myself) don’t have jobs or health insurance? What about stories from Washington, DC, so we know what the hell’s going on in this country?; what about acts of heroism from police officers and firefighters? I’d even take hearing about this brick weather and seeing video of little kids sledding in Central Park. But, instead, I get to watch an over-privileged, under-masculine, all-around annoying white boy get cuffed on his LAMBORGHINI after snorting up all his easily earned money. Super.
Don’t get me wrong, my mind is at ease as I watch the hours upon hours of broadcast about Justin, his behavior, and if his hair may or may not withstand its current height in a murky prison cell, because all that means is that the world is at peace, if not for a day or two. Think about it, when something terrible or scary happens, reporters start salivating at the mouth and physically can’t wait to show live video of gruesome events, iPhone captures of dead bodies, or interviews with experts that are telling us this is, in fact, the end of the world.
But when I turn on the news and see Justin Bieber (I refuse to say Biebs like the 12-year-old obsessed girls and 45-year-old pathetic news anchors), I know all is right. Because, although they may love that little delinquent boy/girl wonder, they love death way more.
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