I Repeat, Bieber Cannot Win

Today is Halloween, the one night each year we willingly force ourselves into terrifying situations, be that by spending a night in haunted house, or watching Linda Blair projectile vomit pea soup onto handsome Greek priests, or in my case, capering about West Hollywood in search of a drag queen that looks like Lady Gaga.

Yet, even H.P. Lovecraft, in the darkest, most grotesque ends of his imagination could not foresee the true Halloween horror I would face on this year’s holiday: Justin Bieber.

Oh, you rancid diabolical fiend with your moppet hair and your dimply cheeks! Van Helsing himself would have quaked in fear upon spying the teeming hordes of young female zombies beating down doors and trampling innocents peasants to follow his siren song.

The day began like any other; sleeping in too late after spending an evening dressed as Hester Prynne for a friend’s Halloween party. I dragged my exhausted corpse out of bed to grab some delicious though nutritionally questionable lunch, and then head on over to the local Barnes and Noble, my sweet refuge of fiction and chai tea, to get some writing done.

Not today, Steinho! Not today! The doors to sanctuary were barred, because some higher mind than yours truly thought it would be the most excellent of ideas to have Justin Bieber sign his new book at my Barnes and Noble on Halloween. Are you kidding me? A Bieber singing in a bookstore? Bieber has no place in a bookstore! Everyone knows that today’s teen girls can’t read, and if they can, they read Twilight, which in my one hundred percent honest opinion isn’t reading at all. It’s tossing your brain into a blender and then teleporting your feminist powers back to the 1950s, where women vacuumed in pearls and got sexually harassed by Sean Connery.

I don’t know what is more horrifying, being kicked out of my own local bookstore because of a teen pop star, or that the woman at the top of the escalator asked to see my Bieber wrist band. Do I look like someone who supports the Bieber cult, Madame? Young though I may appear, I would have hoped that the dark circles of dehydration under my eyes and my constant scowling at other young people would have developed a certain aura of bitterness about my personage.

You know, I never hated on Bieber before. I was a tween once, with posters of New Kids on the Block papering my walls. I get it. Bieber is adorable. Bieber lays golden eggs. Bieber will one day be adopted by Oprah and together they will bring a long awaited era of peace and tranquility to our violent world. But after having a security guard gesture wildly at me, shouting I must immediately vacate the science fiction and fantasy section lest dire action be taken, I’m feeling less than friendly towards the little scamp. There were helicopters circling The Grove. Helicopters. Are you telling me that those helicopters had nothing better to do than protect Bieber’s safety? Is Bieber’s safety really a national crisis? Maybe it’s because of that one concert where somebody threw a bottle at his head. The helicopter pilots must’ve been off that night.

Back to my initial question. What is this floppy haired Muppet-come-to-life even doing in a bookstore in the first place? The short answer is that Bieber has a book. Bieber’s book is most eloquently titled “Justin Bieber: First Step 2 Forever: My Story.” Is this a joke? Did one of my childhood enemies become a zillionaire mad scientist with the two goals of both destroying the English language and torturing me? Let me interject that this is further proof text messages are making us all illiterate. The book is meant to be a tell all, but considering the kid is only sixteen years old, how much is there to tell? And what does that title even mean? Maybe we should wait a couple more decades before we start throwing around words like forever. Or perhaps the title is a subtle hint to the Dorian Gray-esque painting Bieber keeps in his attic to suck up all the evil and horrors he commits on a daily basis. I know your secrets, Bieber. I’m on to you!

Stand strong, fellow academics. Even Bieber’s fame will pass someday. He will grow old and tired. His non-threatening youthful gyrations shall no longer tempt the masses. When that days comes, I’ll be ready.

Bieber cannot win. The fate of the universe depends upon it, and this time, it’s personal.