An open letter to Justin Bieber



Dearest Justin,

Old friend, I hope this missive finds you well, although I must admit I keep getting you mixed up with the actor who recently died in a fiery car crash. Do forgive my ignorance, it’s just that there is a constant barrage of information about people who will be forgotten before the next fortnightly wave of pop culture shits in it’s own mouth. Watevs!

How is your health? I have never heard one of your songs and even though I have seen your face a million times you are as real to me as a dead body in a ditch. Are you even real? Perhaps I could settle the matter by watching one of your music videos, but I want to hang onto my image of you. To me you are what happens when a shotgun shell packed with faeces is blasted into the face of a gasping whore. Haha not really! It’s just that the descent of online news services into an abyss of sucking ad-revenue-need has done bad things to my third eye, which is now an unwiped asshole.

Justin, I understand that in the current competitive climate moving forward neither you nor I actually exist and in fact nothing does but the race to get clicks on the internet. In much the same way as the reaction to climate change is to destroy the environment before the hippies make us save it, the answer to the question of how to make the most of the online world is let it use us until we no longer have a memory of anything that is good. In this way we will slide, numbed, into a wading pool of dead men’s piss, to drown and die as a race that decided making decisions was hard.

Also: have you met Lady Gaga?

Your adoring consumer,

Sean Bedlam

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