So, at the ripe old age of 16, Justin Bieber -- questionably coiffed and under-talented male(?) pop tart -- is writing his autobiography. HarperCollins is publishing it; it's sure to be a gripping page-turner, full of high adventure, sex, drugs, auto-tuning and groupie-groping.
Wait. What the fuck? Dude is SIX-fucking-teen. Have his balls even dropped yet? The sheer narcissistic arrogance of such a whiny little spitfuck presuming that, at his tender age, he's had enough experience at ANYTHING to merit a formally published autobiography is mind-boggling.
The people at HarperCollins must think the book-buying public has lost its collective mind. Who is going to buy (let alone read) such a tome? Wait...I am sure that legions of brain-dead, immature fan girls and bois, brainwashed into thinking that Bieber is talented, interesting and otherwise worthy of being immortalized in print will line up on release day. If they can't buy it with their own money, I'm sure they will get mommy or daddy -- willing to cough up a few shekels for the illusion of peace in the house and a superficial relationship with their kids and/or reality --will throw money at it, hoping that it will create the illusion of giving a shit.
What kind of presumptuous, self-absorbed, self-impressed idiot would write his memoirs before he'd really accomplished anything?
Carry on, then.