Dear Justin Bieber,
I know you’ve tried. You at least deserve credit for your youthful tenacity. But I’m here to tell you that it’s not happening. For the past year, my little pop chipmunk, you’ve been trying to make those drop-crotch, droopy-drawer pants catch on. But it’s time to take off that spiked, canary-yellow trucker hat and take a look around. No one is buying what you’re selling.
Comments
This guy Muther is described as "Globe staff". So please answer this question . . . Why does the Globe editorial management assign a full fledged reporter to such a drop dead stupid tale as whether some teenaged schlemiel is able to keep his pants up? Who cares?
Muther is a reporter for the "Style" section, a section that you seem to complain about, yet rarely read, let alone take any tips from.
Mr. Muther: Amen. The next thing to retire is the gas mask.
Thanks for the laughs this morning. The weather is ghastly, and Justin Bieber looks like his diaper is full. Time to wear some big-boy pants!
"If poopin' ya pants is cool consider me Justin Beiber!"