Bieber, Rum, and Tears

Sitting in the dark, drinking your rum, listening to the Bieber album, you begin to cry a little. The windswept locks, acquiring fame without any discernible talent, the ability to sing songs that other people have written; everything about Bieber exudes timeless art. Oh sure, he catches a lot of flack now, but true pioneers are never appreciated in their own time. One day you hope to bring your grandson to the Bieber exhibit at the Smithsonian, and tell him how you witnessed young Justin reach heights unimaginable, right before your eyes. Just then, your neighbor knocks. You let him in. He only has two words:

“Bieber’s dead.”

The weight of this statement, along with the rum, knocks you to the floor. Both you and your neighbor sob uncontrollably for far longer than you really should.

As you form a shaking, white-knuckled fist, you finally declare in a slow, deep voice: “We must avenge him.”

Since you are a secret agent/pro athlete/doctor, you channel your awesome insight, and see that you can use your neighbor as a puppet in the sick little production that this case is turning into.

“Hey buddy, why don’t you head out there and see what’s going down,” you suggest, not wanting to put yourself in harm’s way.

“Are you serious? Half the town is dead. I can’t risk it,” he replies.

“It’s not all that big of a deal, the worst is over. Probably. Besides, you’re the number one Bieber-head in town, don’t you want to see what happened?” Your basic psychology courses are coming in handy at this point.

“Why are you trying to put me in danger? Don’t get me wrong, I looove Bieber, just as much as the next guy, but I’m not sure I want to risk my life and go down there.” Do you:

In a blind rage, pull out your concealed butter knife, and end this blasphemer’s life.

Apply your expert negotiation skills to the situation, and get him to go out into the aftermath of the explosion.

  1. No comments yet.
  1. No trackbacks yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: