Dear Mr. Adidas,
I am writing you to address the ongoing issue of Justin Bieber.
No one made me do it.
Well, maybe a teeny tiny nudge from my rabbi, who impersonated Justin for Purim several years ago, right down to lip-synching his songs, and never fully recovered. In his defense, he has a daughter.
You can’t kick Bieber Fever just like that, you know.
After the latest Bieber blunders, my rabbi wrote a very respectable letter to you, which, in turn, inspired me to jot down my thoughts and send them your way. Maybe if you receive enough correspondence you’ll stop and listen.
By the grace of G-d, my family has never been infected with Bieber Fever even though I am in possession of a teenage girl of my own. Rock salt sprinkled in the corners of her room seems to be the trick. That and a healthy obsession with lowbrow, politically correct teenage television shows. Apparently, adolescent angst is deftly delivered in ASL and it’s okay to make-out with your sister when she’s a foster sibling. No amount of rock salt has spared me from that.
Mr. Adidas, when I was a teen I used to wear your shoes. My best friend wore a t-shirt with your brand scrawled all over it. Sure, we had a code for what each letter spelled out when looked at backward (“Sex All Day Is Delightful Always,” in case you slept through the eighties), but really, other than that, we were pretty responsible and extremely underpaid sponsors of your brand, who at that point, were pretty clueless about sex, I might add.
Now look at Justin.
Just take a look-see.
The baby face with the mop hair and cutesy purple jacket is long gone.
Replaced by some dude peeing in buckets, spitting on fans, romping around brothels in Brazil, and cursing out Bill Clinton, which, for precision sake, is about twenty years too late. I mean, Monica Lewinsky is middle-aged now!
And then there’s this latest escapade, his drag race in Miami Beach in a rental car. A very expensive rental car. Hey, wait, is Justin even old enough to rent a car? And why doesn’t Budget ever offer me a Lamborghini? I’ll take one in red.
I have to wonder these issues because I live in South Florida and Justin’s smug smile, so Orange is the New Black, still seems to be newsworthy enough for the local news, which recently included a twenty-minute interview of a mom who took her two tweens to spend an all-nighter outside Orchid House, where rare Bieber sightings had been reported (did someone say he’d been spotted washing dishes?) Sadly, after waiting eight hours in Florida cold, the mother, a sensible, responsible lady with limits, forced the children to leave so they wouldn’t be, in her words, “too late for school.” I’m figuring at that point Justin had already jetted off to Panama.
I think a volcano erupted somewhere in the world and I know Americans are getting fingers amputated at record rates because of whatever front arrived after the Polar Vortex, but I missed it. Local producers deemed this more significant.
So please, Mr. Adidas. Please pull the plug on this disaster.
Cut the crap and cut the funds.
I get it that this is a tough sell. The kid makes a ton of money for you. Plus there’s real polished folk like Steve Tyler supporting his crazy antics. And, it seems the DIU and drag racing charges may have been dropped. Miami certainly doesn’t want to be the bad cop.
Will someone please parent up?
There a tons of tweens and teens that adore Justin. The more crazy crap he gets away with, and, is even praised for, the more confused a message we give.
So, what do you say? Be the mom that sends this kid back to school or a hole in Canada or, say, an all-inclusive rehab in sunny Palm Springs so the rest of us can continue worrying about real things, like say, is Jennifer Aniston pregnant? (Wait, wait, I think it’s true this time!)