Why I too should be Justin Bieber

This post has nothing really to do with Justin Bieber, except for exactly what it DOES have to do with Justin Bieber…which is not very much.

So pay close attention.

I feel like I’m losing you already. 

*tap tap tap* 

Is this thing on?

Here’s how it began:  recently, on my way to The Job, I overheard a radio talk show host complaining about how Justin Bieber is outraged that he got a speeding ticket whilst doing 80mph on a Los Angeles freeway in his Fisker Karma—that’s a car…what?  Never heard of it?  That’s because it’s made exclusively from extinct Wooly Mammoth skins sewn together by hand-less midgets in the desert—not dessert—of  Darfur who are simultaneously sewing whilst dodging RPG fire by the government backed Janjaweed militia and cursing PETA out loud in the broken English taught to them by generous American Mormon missionaries.   

I’m sorry PETA, I don’t personally curse you, I just talk about people who I imagine curse you….IN. MY. IMAGINATION…so no firebombing my house for the bacon therein, ok?

Good.  Glad we cleared that up.

And so, I thought to myself while listening to said talk show host curse the Fisker-Karma driving, disobedient Beiber...who on EARTH could feel more privileged than a man (Justin, are you still following?) who feels outraged over being pulled over for breaking a commonly held traffic law when said individual is driving a car made by impoverished, disabled people who are being shot at by their own government whilst sitting in their own shat? (I assume, perhaps mistakenly, that there are no flushing toilets in the desert-again, it's DESERT not  DESSERT, as in these individuals are sitting in SAND and NOT sitting in CUPCAKES-therefore I also assume said Fisker Karma-Wooly Mammoth skin sewing, hand-less midgets are pooing where they sit…wrong?  is that hard to follow?  welcome to my brain.)

And I felt OUTRAGED.

And then I forgot why I was outraged and had to re-read my own blog post. I realized….wait, I’ve totally lost track of my own train of thought.  

And, also, reality.

For all I know, Fiskar-Karma’s are made from metal manufactured in Detroit.  AND, for all I know, Darfurian hand-less midgets poop in regular toilets, just like you and I.  AND how do I know that they have no dessert there?  Maybe there is, in fact, a glut of Strawberry Shortcake in the local markets? 

WHO AM I TO SAY?