Growing up, I was considered something of a big shit in my small town. I wasn’t the fastest or the brightest kid, nor the funniest or the most interesting. I wore second hand shoes bought from a crumbling warehouse in downtown Spartanburg and ate free lunches in the cafeteria. I was never a kickball captain (though my 5th grade late-inning triple play was the most talked about event at Mayo elementary school for that one afternoon [read: kids with rat-tails can do things, too!]) and my 6’0” 10 year old frame just begged to get its ass beat in dodgeball. I didn’t have the foresight to lie about touching breasts and smoking cigarettes and everyone knew that was totally a girl’s t-shirt I was wearing that one time no matter what I said. No, I can attribute absolutely nothing I did or said to my fragile popularity – the only reason boys who played sports and girls who wore makeup wanted to talk to me was a combination of my parents’ post-divorce apathy and a run-down everyman shoe peddler named Al Bundy.
You see, I was the only kid anywhere- seriously, the only kid in the entire nation– who was allowed to watch Married with Children. I didn’t understand most of the jokes, and I hadn’t yet grasped that I should be masturbating to Christina Applegate, but by god I was in front of that TV every night because Al Bundy made me somebody. The following mornings, as classmates huddled around me as I retold scenes in hushed conspiratorial tones, I knew what it was to live the dream- I had important people wanting to hear what I had to say and, even better, it had something to do with what I thought a boy and a girl are supposed to do when locked in a closet together. Sweet.
Married with Children was brilliant, and, in retrospect, completely harmless – sure there was tons of sexual innuendo, lots of slutty blonde jokes, and some innocent misogyny, but at this stage in my life that’s all part of my regular morning routine, so lets call a spade a spade here, folks. I don’t know what happened in the interim between childhood and now, but something has changed. Here’s how I know – I can tell you what I didn’t do today – I didn’t kill Justin Bieber.
I saw it on the television, but I didn’t pull it off. That’s right, I would just like to confirm that today I have not killed Justin Bieber. I saw his ass get shot up like a hundred times, but I didn’t do it. No, the braintrust over at CBS thought Justin Bieber would make an excellent celebrity guest star on CSI, thus beginning what must be the most debased whoring of a story arc to attract the “under-violenced tween girl demographic” CSI is so desperately missing.
I recently took a poll of all the current CSI fans still watching and found out that neither of them knew who Justin Bieber was, and in fact, since the nursing home only got a few channels, thought they were still watching Jag. Those wonderful ladies aside, how about the rest of us dissect this – some very old and shameless people thought it would be a good idea to have an underaged pop star who’s entire fan base consists of children who still don’t understand why they are bleeding from their ‘no-no spot’ every month MURDERED ON A NATIONALLY TELEVISED CRIME DRAMA. This is quite obviously a testament to the unstoppable ratings steamroller that is the venerable Terrence Howard (bless him and give him peace) and the indefatigable L&O:SVU (click it, you wont regret it), but where the hell is the line anymore?
My hate is not so much directed at The Biebs, who is being groomed beyond his control to be a grade-A douchebag, but at those doing the grooming. SINCE WHEN DID PRETEENS WATCHING BLOODY MURDERS BECOME MORE ACCEPTABLE THAN SEX JOKES? Am I the only motherfucker on the entire planet who finds something incredibly wrong with this? Am I the only guy on the planet who put that death scene on repeat and masturbated to it? Yes? No? Ok, just throwing out some feelers here.
This sets a precedent for all types of make-believe statutory violations – a quick search tells me that Justin Bieber is involved with just-of-age ambiguously Latina child star Selena Gomez –Now I imagine there will soon be an opening for a ‘barely legal violent death Mexican construction crew gang rapee’ on an upcoming show. Yeah, absolutely, the average 12 year old could handle that nowadays – Ok, um, just gimme a sec, wait for it, let the genius juice flow here– how about a Halloween special where they both come back to life and have hard-core disgusting zombie sex for all of their fans?
WHO SIGNED OFF ON THIS? GODDAMNIT, CBS, DO YOU SEE WHAT YOU’RE MAKING ME DO? YOU’RE MAKING ME TYPE IN ALL CAPS, CBS! WHY DO YOU KEEP MAKING ME DO THIS TO YOU?
For real though, no one out there masturbated to it?