bill-swift - May 28, 2012
Here's the thing. You want the bazillions and the houses and the cars and the jets and the screaming fans and the idiotic purple shoes and purple hat, and you're a shrimpy annoying twit from the suburbs, well, great, you've got it, kid. But there are a few small prices to pay. Like having photographers follow you around the shopping mall and getting in your shit. It's a price. It's optional. You can go back to being the runty nerd who got wedgied on the playground, or you can be the mega-rich celebrity superstar. You decide.
But don't go berserker on albeit rude photographers invading your space. Don't start chasing them around shopping mall parking lots in your custom eco-friendly cars. And do not start trying to kick and punch them, because (a) it's going to cost you a small fortune for the feeblest of contact, and (b) you now look like a totally stupid little runty brat with his purple shoe and purple hat on the ground, your special diamond earring glistening in the sun like a sign from above that you're a special kind of douche.
Justin Bieber suffers from a lack of never getting his ass properly kicked before he became famous.
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