The Ever-Loving Virgin Prince
Tuesday, February 03, 2004
Cutting Down Timberlake
Loyal followers,
This morning, as I was about to head out the door to work, Bobo the Virgin Chimp grabbed me and shoved a newspaper in my face. The precocious beast keeps up to date on current events largely due to his love for the daily gossip column, he has a strange fascination with Paris Hilton, especially now that she has her corn-rows, and she never fails to make an appearance. But today, my ape's concern was on Justin Timberlake, his large, dark, simian finger pointed out the picture on the front page. A picture of Janet Jackson, looking indignant, covering her breast with her hand, beside her stood Timberlake, a slightly pissy, slightly intoxicated, slightly self-absorbed look on his face.
Ah, Señor Justin, one of my many sworn enemies. Where do I start with you?
Due to some sort of mental flaw caused by a pairing of x chromosomes, the majority of women are immediately attracted to two sorts of men. One, the closet gay type, and two, the inconsiderate, shallow, abusive, emotionally-stunted and detached type. This is a strange flaw, as it virtually ensures failed relationships and I can't see how this genetic predisposition can possibly be useful in terms of evolution and propagation of the species. But then, I've never much understood the women of this planet. It should come as no surprise then that the latest media darling and object of female adoration, a Mr. Justin Timberlake, seems to fit nicely in both of these two categories.
As to whether he's actually gay or not, who can say? He certainly surrounds himself with enough beautiful (or at least moderately attractive) women to imply that he is indeed very heterosexual, but then, he could be just another male celebrity surrounding himself in beautiful women to avoid public suspicion of his dandy nature. He certainly wouldn't be the first. Springing to mind are Anthony Perkins, Rock Hudson, Ricky Martin, and George Michael, who, until his very public unmasking as a full-blown homosexual, made a point of filling his videos with images of scantily-clad supermodels. The closet gay celebrity is an American tradition, without which, tabloids would have their content no doubt reduced by half. Even the official outing of Boy George surprisingly caused a stir. Boy George!
On to other points of Timberlake's questionable nature, there's Sir Justin's unusually close relationship with his mother, who still dresses him, not all that common a trait with heterosexual males. But then, it should be noted that Justin Timberlake has terrible fashion sense (another factor implying heterosexuality) and perhaps it's best he gets all the help he can get. He's definitely an effeminate lad, and though he dresses in the manner of a common scummy street-thug, he lacks the presence to back the image up. He's the type that, were he a normal middle-class lad, would probably get his ass handed to him on a daily basis. Fortunately, he has security guards. It's a good thing too, he recently spent several hours hiding in his British hotel room after a passer-by tapped him lightly on the back of his head. He spent the rest of the evening cowering in fear, screaming about how he hates England, and refusing to sign autographs. Personally, I think Justin should consider going back to his big-hair poofy look. It may not be the most masculine image in the world, but it works for him.
I certainly wouldn't rule out bisexuality in Justin's case. It's nearly common knowledge that he makes all of his sexual partners wear a latex mask of his own face during intercourse.
Justin Timberlake strikes me as the type of guy that has never heard the word "NO". He's probably never had a spanking or a single smack in the face as a result of one of his screaming fits. A glimpse into his past no doubt reveals temper-tantrums in the midst of Disneyland gift shops and large amounts of cash spent to appease the boy-demon. For it's certain, humility is not a word in his vocabulary.
Timberlake will be the first to tell the media how excellent is album is, how it's a little different, a little unique, and quite catchy. Not that his opinion is biased in the least. The media, of course, is all too quick to agree with him, and write down his words verbatim in their album reviews. There's an especially disgusting bit of pandering and encouraging on the part of MTV, eager to get him to grace their network with appearances on TRL and countless other brain-eating programs.
It's this message that Justin constantly receives that he can do no wrong that encourages him to keep delving further into new forms of jackassery, doing things like imitating the mentally handicapped while announcing other celebrities to stage. When recently introducing Coldplay, Timberlake made mention of how enjoyable they are to listen to while "with a certain someone" and began to thrust his pelvis on-stage. It was a crass and infantile action, but he took no flak for it. Rather, the females in the audience cheered him on. Ladies, do you really enjoy men thrusting their groins at you as they make mention of sex? Isn't this something that would normally make you go for the mace? Stop encouraging him! I swear, if Justin Timberlake hadn't been recently pelted with cans and bottles for taking the stage at a Rolling Stones concert, I'd think there was no hope for the public at all.
The more the public eats up everything Justin Timberlake does, the more he's encouraged to continue to do stupid things. This brings me to the thing that annoys me the most about xxy chromosome boy here, his blatant treatment of women as objects. Now I realize that a great many people in the music industry and indeed, the world, do the same, however, is anyone else quite so loved for it? I'm sickened enough by the immense popularity of The Thong Song, do we really need a mascot for this sort of behavior now? Are the women of the world (his core audience) crying out, "Oh we need a man like him! Someone to use us, someone to treat us like meat! Someone who cares not about our feelings, but instead will immediately try to bed us. Someone to add us to his list of trophies in addition to his Porsches, Hummers, Cadillacs, gold records, big houses, and flashy jewelry!"
Well it would seem that Baby Spice, Janet Jackson, Cameron Diaz, and Britney Spears (big surprise) are all quite taken with him. But then, I suppose these aren't shining examples of womanhood.
Combining jackassery and objectification are what Justin does best. For example, the time Justin Timberlake grabbed Kylie Minogue's ass while they were performing on stage together. It wasn't scripted to be sure. And while Kylie has made a point of marketing her body along with her music, I'm sure she wasn't fond of being groped on-stage for all the world to see. During the public interview that followed, Timberlake made another thoughtless, cocky comment about how he'd like to give her ass another grab. Kylie replied of course with an "I don't think so," the annoyance barely hidden in her voice. Justin was left to stand there looking like a jackass.
Smacked down for all the world to see! You go Kylie! Stand up for your right to not have to put up with unwanted sexual harassment from a completely brain-dead vulgarian! If there's more girls like you in Australia, I just might stop thinking of it as the armpit of the world. It’s just a shame you didn’t think to sue.
This all brings us up to now, to the picture on the front page. Yesterday was the Superbowl and this year, MTV provided the “entertainment”. As if football wasn’t boring enough, the half-time show forced people to sit through Nelly, Kid Rock, Janet Jackson, and you guessed it, Justin Timberlake. Needless to say, I did not watch the event myself, I was content to watch Hannibal and The Royal Tennenbaums because I couldn’t find my Psycho DVD.
From what I’ve read, it was as Timberlake recited his oh-so-classy lyric, “Gonna have you naked by the end of this song” that he ripped Janet Jackson’s outfit from her right breast, exposing it for all to see. And while apparently, this time around he had her consent to do so (she was conveniently wearing a pasty over her nipple), this was done without rehearsal, without the foreknowledge of CBS and the NFL, leading them to face persecution by the FCC. Should we really be that surprised that Timberlake has engaged in another bonehead maneuver? He does live in a world without consequences after all.
I suppose I’m not so bothered that Janet Jackson’s withered, plastic-surgery-enhanced breast was flashed for the whole world to see, merely that Justin Timberlake continues to get away with such behavior. If someone doesn’t stand up to him soon and tell him he’s acting like the simpleton lovechild of two Tennessee siblings, he’s only going to get worse. For all of Bobo the Virgin Chimp’s feces-slinging, I still think he acts in a far more refined manner.
I know, I know, I’m picking too much on old Velcro-head. Why must I verbally assault this young castrati with so extreme a tongue-lashing? Is it that such a mediocre Michael Jackson-impersonator gets such praise and adoration while a dashing strong-jawed crime-fighting lad such as myself is barely known? That a hero of men should be considered secondary to the subject of motivation behind countless females’ finger manipulations?
I suppose I’ve always just hated boy bands. A grouping of 5 men that can’t play instruments, largely lack any musical ability, generally don’t even write their own songs, and are picked mostly on the basis of appearance. What’s worse, the record execs can’t even be consistent about even that one requirement. Have you seen how ugly the boy bands are these days? What’s with that guy in the cowboy hat in the Backstreet Boys? Why does N’Sync lay claim to not one, but two homely members, and provide three more that have above-average features and yet are incredibly eerie to look at?
I suppose to be fair, even the New Kids On The Block had some freakin’ hideous members. Ah, that’s it. That’s where the hatred started. The New Kids.
Back when I was a young lad, I had a girl stolen away from me by none other than Jordan Knight. Though he was a good nine years older than her tender age of 12, it mattered not. The Kids were loading up the groupie-bus, and had no intentions of stopping until there was a limb protruding from every window. This later led to a very messy incident as the bus passed through a tunnel, there’s still many a jaded amputee out there willing to tell the tale of their short time spent in the fast lane.
It all started in a shopping mall not far from my house. It had just reopened, having spent 6 months being thoroughly fumigated after the Tiffany outbreak and resultant scare of 1990. Young Shirley Jones and I were sitting in the mall’s haberdashery when from out of nowhere, Little Joe McIntyre came flying in through the entrance and began cutting the tops from all the hats. Once he began eyeing a nice stovepipe hat on the top shelf, I could take no more.
I ran up to him and grabbed him by the arm, attempting to pull him away from the hats. With an effortless shrug, he knocked me backwards into a display of bowlers and derbies. He barely took notice of me, lost in his hat-altering frenzy. From behind him I ran up, jumping on his back and sinking my still-growing teeth into his shoulder. He let out a loud shriek, the shrill summoning his cronies.
Up ran Danny Wood, charging at me with his massive jaws open, his metal teeth chomping through anything I threw at him, tearing through bits of wood as if they were rice-paper. I swiftly dodged out of his way, his own momentum carrying him into McIntyre, the two of them colliding with a large crash, shattering yet more shelves. A bit of McIntyre’s scalp was caught unintentionally between Wood’s monster jaws.
Into the fray joined Donny Wahlberg and his brother, Marky Mark, Wahlberg setting fire to the things around us, and Mark, tripping constantly over his own sagging pants and cussing while struggling to remember how to sound “street”. I tried briefly to douse the fires with the contents of a discarded Orange Julius before realizing I had lost track of Shirley.
“Let Hammerman and his magical shoes deal with this” I thought to myself as I ran off to find Shirley.
Running through the mall at breakneck speed, I finally found her, my eyes glimpsing her outside the mall entrance as Jordan Knight led her onto the New Kids’ bus, an evil glint in his eye. Before I could reach them, they were gone, the bus taking off for the highway, a large cloud of exhaust left in it’s wake.
That was it for me and Shirley, I only saw her once afterward, in my high-school years, carrying a crutch and dressed in the flannel uniform of the grunge movement. Sometimes now I wonder what ever happened to that legless bird.
I suppose that’s where the anger stems from, where my hatred for the boy bands begins. What’s the point of my tale? I largely doubt there is one, save for this. Celebrities are people too, and should be held to the same standards. So next time Britney Spears asks to ride your bike, tell her “no”. Next time Kid Rock propositions you for a lap dance or tries to drink all your beer, throw your martini in his face. Most importantly, next time Justin Timberlake tries to make a grab for you, make sure to give him a swift knee to his ineffectual groin! The blatant disregard for the importance of females and overt objectification of women is absolutely criminal and those who would engage in such behavior should be completely abhorred and shunned.
Except for me of course.
I have to go now, it’s time to tuck Bobo in, and I have to get to work on the new American national anthem. The country needs direction, needs to rock and roll! The Virgin Prince shall provide.
Be seeing you,
The Virgin Prince
This morning, as I was about to head out the door to work, Bobo the Virgin Chimp grabbed me and shoved a newspaper in my face. The precocious beast keeps up to date on current events largely due to his love for the daily gossip column, he has a strange fascination with Paris Hilton, especially now that she has her corn-rows, and she never fails to make an appearance. But today, my ape's concern was on Justin Timberlake, his large, dark, simian finger pointed out the picture on the front page. A picture of Janet Jackson, looking indignant, covering her breast with her hand, beside her stood Timberlake, a slightly pissy, slightly intoxicated, slightly self-absorbed look on his face.
Ah, Señor Justin, one of my many sworn enemies. Where do I start with you?
Due to some sort of mental flaw caused by a pairing of x chromosomes, the majority of women are immediately attracted to two sorts of men. One, the closet gay type, and two, the inconsiderate, shallow, abusive, emotionally-stunted and detached type. This is a strange flaw, as it virtually ensures failed relationships and I can't see how this genetic predisposition can possibly be useful in terms of evolution and propagation of the species. But then, I've never much understood the women of this planet. It should come as no surprise then that the latest media darling and object of female adoration, a Mr. Justin Timberlake, seems to fit nicely in both of these two categories.
As to whether he's actually gay or not, who can say? He certainly surrounds himself with enough beautiful (or at least moderately attractive) women to imply that he is indeed very heterosexual, but then, he could be just another male celebrity surrounding himself in beautiful women to avoid public suspicion of his dandy nature. He certainly wouldn't be the first. Springing to mind are Anthony Perkins, Rock Hudson, Ricky Martin, and George Michael, who, until his very public unmasking as a full-blown homosexual, made a point of filling his videos with images of scantily-clad supermodels. The closet gay celebrity is an American tradition, without which, tabloids would have their content no doubt reduced by half. Even the official outing of Boy George surprisingly caused a stir. Boy George!
On to other points of Timberlake's questionable nature, there's Sir Justin's unusually close relationship with his mother, who still dresses him, not all that common a trait with heterosexual males. But then, it should be noted that Justin Timberlake has terrible fashion sense (another factor implying heterosexuality) and perhaps it's best he gets all the help he can get. He's definitely an effeminate lad, and though he dresses in the manner of a common scummy street-thug, he lacks the presence to back the image up. He's the type that, were he a normal middle-class lad, would probably get his ass handed to him on a daily basis. Fortunately, he has security guards. It's a good thing too, he recently spent several hours hiding in his British hotel room after a passer-by tapped him lightly on the back of his head. He spent the rest of the evening cowering in fear, screaming about how he hates England, and refusing to sign autographs. Personally, I think Justin should consider going back to his big-hair poofy look. It may not be the most masculine image in the world, but it works for him.
I certainly wouldn't rule out bisexuality in Justin's case. It's nearly common knowledge that he makes all of his sexual partners wear a latex mask of his own face during intercourse.
Justin Timberlake strikes me as the type of guy that has never heard the word "NO". He's probably never had a spanking or a single smack in the face as a result of one of his screaming fits. A glimpse into his past no doubt reveals temper-tantrums in the midst of Disneyland gift shops and large amounts of cash spent to appease the boy-demon. For it's certain, humility is not a word in his vocabulary.
Timberlake will be the first to tell the media how excellent is album is, how it's a little different, a little unique, and quite catchy. Not that his opinion is biased in the least. The media, of course, is all too quick to agree with him, and write down his words verbatim in their album reviews. There's an especially disgusting bit of pandering and encouraging on the part of MTV, eager to get him to grace their network with appearances on TRL and countless other brain-eating programs.
It's this message that Justin constantly receives that he can do no wrong that encourages him to keep delving further into new forms of jackassery, doing things like imitating the mentally handicapped while announcing other celebrities to stage. When recently introducing Coldplay, Timberlake made mention of how enjoyable they are to listen to while "with a certain someone" and began to thrust his pelvis on-stage. It was a crass and infantile action, but he took no flak for it. Rather, the females in the audience cheered him on. Ladies, do you really enjoy men thrusting their groins at you as they make mention of sex? Isn't this something that would normally make you go for the mace? Stop encouraging him! I swear, if Justin Timberlake hadn't been recently pelted with cans and bottles for taking the stage at a Rolling Stones concert, I'd think there was no hope for the public at all.
The more the public eats up everything Justin Timberlake does, the more he's encouraged to continue to do stupid things. This brings me to the thing that annoys me the most about xxy chromosome boy here, his blatant treatment of women as objects. Now I realize that a great many people in the music industry and indeed, the world, do the same, however, is anyone else quite so loved for it? I'm sickened enough by the immense popularity of The Thong Song, do we really need a mascot for this sort of behavior now? Are the women of the world (his core audience) crying out, "Oh we need a man like him! Someone to use us, someone to treat us like meat! Someone who cares not about our feelings, but instead will immediately try to bed us. Someone to add us to his list of trophies in addition to his Porsches, Hummers, Cadillacs, gold records, big houses, and flashy jewelry!"
Well it would seem that Baby Spice, Janet Jackson, Cameron Diaz, and Britney Spears (big surprise) are all quite taken with him. But then, I suppose these aren't shining examples of womanhood.
Combining jackassery and objectification are what Justin does best. For example, the time Justin Timberlake grabbed Kylie Minogue's ass while they were performing on stage together. It wasn't scripted to be sure. And while Kylie has made a point of marketing her body along with her music, I'm sure she wasn't fond of being groped on-stage for all the world to see. During the public interview that followed, Timberlake made another thoughtless, cocky comment about how he'd like to give her ass another grab. Kylie replied of course with an "I don't think so," the annoyance barely hidden in her voice. Justin was left to stand there looking like a jackass.
Smacked down for all the world to see! You go Kylie! Stand up for your right to not have to put up with unwanted sexual harassment from a completely brain-dead vulgarian! If there's more girls like you in Australia, I just might stop thinking of it as the armpit of the world. It’s just a shame you didn’t think to sue.
This all brings us up to now, to the picture on the front page. Yesterday was the Superbowl and this year, MTV provided the “entertainment”. As if football wasn’t boring enough, the half-time show forced people to sit through Nelly, Kid Rock, Janet Jackson, and you guessed it, Justin Timberlake. Needless to say, I did not watch the event myself, I was content to watch Hannibal and The Royal Tennenbaums because I couldn’t find my Psycho DVD.
From what I’ve read, it was as Timberlake recited his oh-so-classy lyric, “Gonna have you naked by the end of this song” that he ripped Janet Jackson’s outfit from her right breast, exposing it for all to see. And while apparently, this time around he had her consent to do so (she was conveniently wearing a pasty over her nipple), this was done without rehearsal, without the foreknowledge of CBS and the NFL, leading them to face persecution by the FCC. Should we really be that surprised that Timberlake has engaged in another bonehead maneuver? He does live in a world without consequences after all.
I suppose I’m not so bothered that Janet Jackson’s withered, plastic-surgery-enhanced breast was flashed for the whole world to see, merely that Justin Timberlake continues to get away with such behavior. If someone doesn’t stand up to him soon and tell him he’s acting like the simpleton lovechild of two Tennessee siblings, he’s only going to get worse. For all of Bobo the Virgin Chimp’s feces-slinging, I still think he acts in a far more refined manner.
I know, I know, I’m picking too much on old Velcro-head. Why must I verbally assault this young castrati with so extreme a tongue-lashing? Is it that such a mediocre Michael Jackson-impersonator gets such praise and adoration while a dashing strong-jawed crime-fighting lad such as myself is barely known? That a hero of men should be considered secondary to the subject of motivation behind countless females’ finger manipulations?
I suppose I’ve always just hated boy bands. A grouping of 5 men that can’t play instruments, largely lack any musical ability, generally don’t even write their own songs, and are picked mostly on the basis of appearance. What’s worse, the record execs can’t even be consistent about even that one requirement. Have you seen how ugly the boy bands are these days? What’s with that guy in the cowboy hat in the Backstreet Boys? Why does N’Sync lay claim to not one, but two homely members, and provide three more that have above-average features and yet are incredibly eerie to look at?
I suppose to be fair, even the New Kids On The Block had some freakin’ hideous members. Ah, that’s it. That’s where the hatred started. The New Kids.
Back when I was a young lad, I had a girl stolen away from me by none other than Jordan Knight. Though he was a good nine years older than her tender age of 12, it mattered not. The Kids were loading up the groupie-bus, and had no intentions of stopping until there was a limb protruding from every window. This later led to a very messy incident as the bus passed through a tunnel, there’s still many a jaded amputee out there willing to tell the tale of their short time spent in the fast lane.
It all started in a shopping mall not far from my house. It had just reopened, having spent 6 months being thoroughly fumigated after the Tiffany outbreak and resultant scare of 1990. Young Shirley Jones and I were sitting in the mall’s haberdashery when from out of nowhere, Little Joe McIntyre came flying in through the entrance and began cutting the tops from all the hats. Once he began eyeing a nice stovepipe hat on the top shelf, I could take no more.
I ran up to him and grabbed him by the arm, attempting to pull him away from the hats. With an effortless shrug, he knocked me backwards into a display of bowlers and derbies. He barely took notice of me, lost in his hat-altering frenzy. From behind him I ran up, jumping on his back and sinking my still-growing teeth into his shoulder. He let out a loud shriek, the shrill summoning his cronies.
Up ran Danny Wood, charging at me with his massive jaws open, his metal teeth chomping through anything I threw at him, tearing through bits of wood as if they were rice-paper. I swiftly dodged out of his way, his own momentum carrying him into McIntyre, the two of them colliding with a large crash, shattering yet more shelves. A bit of McIntyre’s scalp was caught unintentionally between Wood’s monster jaws.
Into the fray joined Donny Wahlberg and his brother, Marky Mark, Wahlberg setting fire to the things around us, and Mark, tripping constantly over his own sagging pants and cussing while struggling to remember how to sound “street”. I tried briefly to douse the fires with the contents of a discarded Orange Julius before realizing I had lost track of Shirley.
“Let Hammerman and his magical shoes deal with this” I thought to myself as I ran off to find Shirley.
Running through the mall at breakneck speed, I finally found her, my eyes glimpsing her outside the mall entrance as Jordan Knight led her onto the New Kids’ bus, an evil glint in his eye. Before I could reach them, they were gone, the bus taking off for the highway, a large cloud of exhaust left in it’s wake.
That was it for me and Shirley, I only saw her once afterward, in my high-school years, carrying a crutch and dressed in the flannel uniform of the grunge movement. Sometimes now I wonder what ever happened to that legless bird.
I suppose that’s where the anger stems from, where my hatred for the boy bands begins. What’s the point of my tale? I largely doubt there is one, save for this. Celebrities are people too, and should be held to the same standards. So next time Britney Spears asks to ride your bike, tell her “no”. Next time Kid Rock propositions you for a lap dance or tries to drink all your beer, throw your martini in his face. Most importantly, next time Justin Timberlake tries to make a grab for you, make sure to give him a swift knee to his ineffectual groin! The blatant disregard for the importance of females and overt objectification of women is absolutely criminal and those who would engage in such behavior should be completely abhorred and shunned.
Except for me of course.
I have to go now, it’s time to tuck Bobo in, and I have to get to work on the new American national anthem. The country needs direction, needs to rock and roll! The Virgin Prince shall provide.
The Virgin Prince
