Living in a cave bereft now of even the most basic of network television sometimes has it’s perks. Oh sure, I might not know what's going on in Egypt, or what sort of zaniness Charlie Sheen has gotten himself into (yet again, am I right?). But then, up until yesterday I knew very little of Rihanna and the insidious earworm “What’s My Name” spawned by her evil genius. Now I can’t get it out of my head.
Another instance, limited contact with this Bieber creation.
‘Who is this Bieber of which you speak?’ you ask. Are you not aware of the Bieber lore? Allow me to enlighten you.
It came to be one day in the eighth year of the new millennium that a man, whilst searching the Youtubes for electronic video of a singer long forgotten to the annals of time, stumbled upon video of the young phenom known as ‘Bieber’ singing soul music. The man tracked the ‘Bieber’ through the tretcherous twists and turns of the information superhighway, only to find a tiny Canadian boy, living in Stratford, ON.
The Bieber’s mother was intrigued by what the man had said, about how talented her boy was and how they could make a ton of money, however the man was Jewish and so it took some convincing. “God, I gave him to you. You could send me a Christian man, a Christian label! ... you don’t want this Jewish kid to be Justin’s man, do you?”
quoth the Bieber’s mother. At least if Wikipedia is to be believed.
However, this being the recording industry, it was decided Jews would be unavoidable, and so off to Atlanta they went.
It came to pass that the Bieber met the great Usher, a man of angelic voice and devilish hip movement, in an Atlanta parking lot, and the sun shone down upon them and now we have
My World 2.0 all over the goddamn place and this kid's face with it's perfect helmet hair is plastered all over the television.
At least, this is the version that the Music Industrial Complex would have you believe.
However, having watched the Grammys last night, I have come to believe more and more that Bieber is not, in fact, a little white kid from the Great White North, which an angelic little voice and devilish hip movement for a young person of his age. Instead I suspect more and more that Justin Bieber is, in fact, a robot.
Proof, you say? You want proof? Behold:
Exhibit A: Pictures from the Grammy performance. Note the use of sunglasses and the robotic mouth piece as an amplification device. He is also standing in a well known robot stance, which indicates that he is ready to accept further programming instructions from Usher.
Exhibit B: His singing and dancing abilities. Having been a sixteen year old boy (and then a seventeen year old boy), I can attest to the fact that no sixteen or seventeen year old boy has the requisite angelic qualities about his voice, nor the basic coordination skills necessary to perform the aforementioned devilish hip movement. The Bieber’s propensity at both reeks to me of complicated robotics and hydraulics, combined with flawless programming.
Exhibit C: The Bieber’s actions when not onstage. In a word, they were nonexistant. Presenter after presenter made light hearted Bieber jokes throughout the night; the camera would cut to his seat in the audience and they would see this:
This look is called ‘Standby Mode’ in the computing world. If you leave your laptop alone for long enough it will adopt a similar, albeit less human expression. If Bieber were indeed a human boy he would have at least flinched at the sheer unfunny qualities of constantly mining that Bieber-lode for a cheap polite laugh. But not a squirm. Why? Robot, that's why.
Now, can I be certain that Bieber is a robot and not what they say he is based on these three measly points? Is this evidence solid and irrefutable?
Yes, actually.
But, for those of you who still hold doubts in your Bieber-loving heart, I will endeavor to unearth yet more evidence that Justin Bieber is, in fact, an angelically voiced, devilishly hipped robot created to induce teenage swooning.
That is, of course, the Music Industrial Complex would rather silence me with outlandish bribes. In which case, Music Industrial Complex, please email me directly so that we can work out suitable payment for my silence.
Also, Lady Antebellum sucks donkey dong. No amount of Grammy trophies will ever change that.
