What's a Bieber?

Knock. Knock. I hear at the door.
"Who's there?" I ask.
"Chest hair." The voice replies.
"Chest hair who?" I inquire.
"Chest hair who plucked himself off Justin Bieber because he's embarrassed to be seen there."
I gasp and open the door to let that poor creature inside.

Unless you've been living under a rock for the last two years, odds are you probably know who and what a Justin Bieber is.

My first experience with the Biebs was at a roller skating rink. I'm wobbling along at my turtle's pace on those skates and Justin Bieber's "Baby" comes through the speakers. I look up above, wondering where on earth this racket is coming from, when all the sudden, a flock of screaming pubescent girls rampages past me like a frickin' stampede. Before I realize what's even going on, my feet flail around and I'm knocked over on my butt, banana peel style.

That, my friends, is called Bieber Fever, and it's the deadliest disease on this planet.

And as I lay there spread eagle on the cold, hard floor at that skating rink, I came to the conclusion that I would never be bitten by the Bieber Bug.

That's not to say that I despise the kid. He's like, what, 12? How can you hate someone who doesn't even have their big boy molars yet? Plus, he does kind of resemble a fluffy woodland creature, what with that high pitched voice and fluffy looking hair. And I do like squirrels....

However, I can't say I'm terribly impressed either. I read that interview he did in Rolling Stone. Scratch that. I should say I got halfway through that article before I put the magazine down to go pull my toenails off with a pair of pliers, because that activity was more intellectually enriching. I'm pretty sure the exact moment I stopped reading was when he used the word "mouses" instead of "mice." I rolled my eyes and thought to myself, "Maybe this kid shouldn't be paying so much money for hair gel. He could use some grammar lessons."

So as I sat on my sofa eating popcorn with the chest hair of Justin Bieber who came knocking at my door, I came to a decision. When the kid grows a chest hair that isn't afraid to be seen in public, I'll listen to his music.

Here's Looking At You Kid,
Perfect Vision