Rather apt, frankly. Is there a face in the cosmos more likely to incite menfolk everywhere into a murderous DEATH SPREE OF MASS DEATH AND DEATH-INDUCING DEATHNESS than Justin Ballbag’s? This whining ballache’s formidable legion of prepubescent girls and incontinent grandmas are, we’d venture, not the optimum audience for Grand Theft Auto. As such, the chances of purloining an in-game Mercedes, only for one of his craptastic ‘(s)hits’ to emanate from the car’s radio at seventeen trillion decibels, are somewhat scant. Fortuitous, as the drug dealers, Yakuza and other badass denizens of Los Santos’s shit-stained criminal underbelly would be sure to disapprove. “Even scumbag criminals such as us, men who don’t even wipe their asses when they’ve been for a shit -because we’re THAT hardcore- know that Justin Bieber sucks King Kong’s massive bollocks,” as one mobster eloquently put it.
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