Something about The Time (Shitty Bit)...

Esquire: Well that certainly was a relaxing and well spent year or so, wasn't it? Surfing in Hawaii, snowboarding in the Netherlands.

Crowbar: Handcuffed to a radiator in Tibet.

Esquire: We went through the safety word 12 times.

Crowbar: Yeah, and you said a different one each time! Then you fucked off to the beach.

Crowbar: Worst game of Monopoly ever, I swear.

Esquire: Enough of this! Let's get to it!

Crowbar: I had to fashion a lockpick from my teeth, man.

Crowbar: And now you are making me watch these Black Eyed Peas Cunts

Esquire: Hey c'mon, they have international acclaim! There is black guy, Fergie, American Indian and the other black guy that doesn't matter.

Crowbar: Even George Harrison got more recognition than black guy that doesn't matter.

Esquire: God's flight of shame towards Earth.

Crowbar: : This is just reminding me of my childhood. I wanted to be an astronaut, you know man? Go into space. NOW LOOK AT ME.

Esquire: Yeah? Well it's not like I chose this either. Besides, what's so great about space?

Esquire: Oh right. he's not there.

Crowbar: And if we take him there, he will die. I like that. It gives me a warm feeling. Nice shoulder pad, asshole. I'm pretty sure I saw that outfit in Fallout.

Esquire: Homeless people dress better than this guy.

Crowbar : This is the new Fergie Minecraft skin. No-one wants it.

Esquire: A talentless hack with the head of a talentless hack. It's like a modern version of a mythological creature.

Crowbar: I am awed by the sublime beauty of the Hacktosaurus.

Esquire: One: Cut a hole in the box. Two: Put your junk in that box. Three: Make a music video.

Crowbar: Will. i. Am appears to be masturbating onto the turn-table. It's nice that they're showing clips of the song's production.

Esquire: Imagine being a groupie for the BEP, and the last thing you see is this before you are gassed and processed to become Wacky Stupid Tacky Clothing or Accessory Choice #34232

Crowbar: Being killed and turned into a naval jacket/space suit. That's not a fate I could wish upon anyone.

Esquire: I imagine Fergie in a large mansion, sipping brandy next to a roaring fire, sitting on a chair made only of the finest hipster while admiring her rug made of a 16 year old girl.

Crowbar: Speaking of which...

Crowbar: Gojira! Run for your lives!

Esquire: Why couldn't they pixel her out?

Crowbar: Because it made a solid wall of pink blocks that looked like it was going to crush you. The testing audience screamed.

Esquire: Testing audience? You mean this was tested on humans? Fuck PETA.

Crowbar: To say nothing of the animals. When I played this song on my speakers, every dog within several square miles started barking. Cattle tipped their heads towards the sky and bellowed. Every spider in my house rolled over and died.

Esquire: And the clouds parted, and the mountain crumbled and the oceans dissipated. From the clouds bellowed a voice "Dirty Bit".

Crowbar: Wow, the useless guy. I think they keep him in cryogenic storage, thawing him whenever they need someone to shout in the chorus.

Esquire: He constantly cries about his situation, hence the glasses. I'd also like to point out that no-one in the audience notices that he is there. It's brilliant.

Can you imagine his pick up line?

"Hey baby, do you like the Black Eyed Peas?"

"Yeah! I love their songs. That lead singer is sooo hot"

"Y...yeah."

Then comes the cattle prodding, where they lead him back to his cage or cryo tube or whatever.

Crowbar: Actually, I think I'll try that some time. Standing on my car and waving my genitals at on-coming traffic just isn't working out.

Esquire: We in the business call that the "Tim Allen".

Crowbar : Oh hey, product placement! That's how you get respect as an artist, right?

Esquire: The lead singer is a total narcissist, I think, so this is his version of porn. "Oh yeah, that's right. Who's the big guy? I'm the big guy". Then he goes back to masturbate on the turntables.

Crowbar: They wouldn't need to sell out so much if they didn't have to replace all of their jizzed-out turn-tables.

Esquire: Then again, the only way to get Fergie motivated is jizzed out turn-tables.

Crowbar: The dance-bot's malfuctioning! Its ass is gonna blow!

Esquire: I like the shocked expression on the everyones face. "OH FUCK, TOO MUCH CAT DRUGS".

Crowbar: Jesus, she's dancing like a motherfucker. It's no wonder everyone else is giving her room on the, uh...

Crowbar: Esq, what is this thing they're doing? Is it a mosh pit? Where does this mosh pit go?

Esquire: It appears to have trees in the background and the roof is very high. My best guess is; Fergie's Free Range roaming grounds.

Esquire: You have to let her stretch her legs out once in a while. You think sounding that terrible comes naturally? You have to work at it.

Crowbar: I always buy free-range music. It's less cruel on the what the fuck am I saying, I want bad things to happen to these people.

Esquire: Scared me for a bit there. Almost thought I'd be seeing your glassy-eyed expression hung on the wall of Fergie's house on the next episode of MTV Cribs.

Crowbar: Other black guy's trying to get through here, everyone just keeps dancing like nothing's happening. He's like Reverse-Moses.

Esquire: He's also smiling like a nervous 1st Grader during school photos.

"Smile!"

"I am smiling!"

"Forget it, I'll use a dummy"

Crowbar: "Someone go and re-thaw Taboo."

Esquire: His name is very appropriate.

Crowbar: No-one wants to mention that he exists.

Esquire: Like, people come into their studio, they flip a switch and his cage is immediatly hidden by framed pictures of beastiality.

Crowbar: A subway! It's brilliant! Dank, devoid of hope, smells like piss and filled with the homeless-insane! It's a metaphor for the band, don't you see?

Esquire: Fat guy in the back is like "Look away, just look away, don't make..err...box contact"

Crowbar: Even random fat dude has too much self-respect to want to be in this music video.

Esquire: I don't want to be stopped by this weirdo when I've got a Pyramid Scheme to get to.

Esquire: He approaches you as the train doors start to close, preaching something about the Grand Cube. Then his head gets stuck in the doors and you laugh for the full 4 stops that he remains stuck, flailing about wildly.

Crowbar: Or he gets ground into paste against the wall, either one's funny.

Crowbar: Hold up. Hold on, here. This demands explanation. This guy's an eye or something, apparently?

Esquire: Well no shit Crowbar. He's got it printed right there on his shirt. Do you think he came to the shooting with the eye on his head? Like, the secretary asked "What are you supposed to be?" He just motions to his shirt and she hands him the keys and goes back to her sudoku.

Crowbar: He probably can't see well in that helmet. I think he was meant to be in a different, better video, and got lost. I want to be where he was going.

Esquire: You know what he reminds me of? O'Doyle from Billy Madisson. Like, left out black guy tries to get through, Eye comes through and pushes him over. "EYEMAN RULES".

Crowbar: Eyeman is clearly the hero of this video. His is a story for the ages.

Crowbar: God, having witnessed the horror of his creation, does what any of us would do in this situation and quickly retreats.

Esquire: Well that was certainly an experience. I think I have to get the shit kicked out of me by Lordi to cleanse the pallet.

Crowbar: I'm going to put a box on my head and stumble around the inner city with overpriced electronics.

Esquire: I'm also going to put a box on my head, except this one will project the image of a screeching harpy.

I'm back

And no-one cares!

Being a sarcastic dumbass in Openbook.

Hail and well met everyone. Esquire here, your MC for todays foray into openbook. Today, I investigate the phrase "how soon is now". Brace yourselves on hold onto your dialysis machines.

Somebody get this lady half her vowels back, maybe then she'll shut her trap.

No shit, this guy looks like he's about to punch me right now. Fun Fact: 90% of people who meet me look like him. The other 10% are in the process of getting a bludgeoning instrument.

They call me mellow yeellowww

I'll give you the number of a nice butcher.

A sad day for the family of Johnathon "Johnno" Christ.

This woman traveled through time and six kinds of ugly to let you know that you can give your credit card details to a legitimate organisation.

Get back to work!

Fine, until I saw you.

I think those meds are supposed to stop whatever this guy has.

I bet she found that thing under the couch or near a pile of discarded couch stuffing.

I hope you fail the entire semester.

What she said.

Pressed Publish!

I made a mistake, so sue me.

Something about eenie meenie...

Esquire: Hello readers, I see that half of our usual readership is away, making our total viewing...0. Nevertheless, we strive to keep delivering obscure, out of date reasoning in the stupid world of video clips.

Crowbar: It wounds me that you would imply our reasoning is out of date. We are totally hip and radical.

Esquire: Reaganomics!

Crowbar: Funkylicious!

Esquire: Assault and battery!

Crowbar: Eenie Meenie!

Esquire: Random words? Of course not. They will soon be associated with each other very very closely, after this review.

Crowbar: Wait, we aren't, are we?

Crowbar: You fucker! You said we were going to Vegas!

Esquire: This is Vegas, just a very shitty version, all desert, no fun. Like, say, Saudi Arabia.

Crowbar: And Sean Kingston and Justin Bieber?

Esquire: I...oh no.

Esquire: I hope he has a cellphone, so his mom can pick him up later.

Crowbar: Or an asthma puffer, so he doesn't die from the exertion of waddling around on the dance floor.

Esquire: What kind of sex appeal does this Peanut MnM have?

Crowbar: Well, I suppose some people have poor vision. They might see him sitting down and think that he's a beanbag. Then things happen which I shall not ever let myself visualise again.

Esquire: DAWM AW DEEZ BOODIFOOW GUWS

Esquire: They are laughing because..ah, fuck it. Beiber is too easy to make fun of. His hair is a joke. His face is a joke. His lipstick is a joke. You go ahead and agonize over what jokes could have been funny had they not been done before, and I'll amuse myself with these nailclippers

Crowbar: Hey now, that's uncalled for. Bieber is a gigantic hit with preteen girls, teen girls and pedophilic old women. That means he must have talent, right?

Esquire: I think I cut too deep. Fuck, now that's gonna sting in the morning.

Crowbar: What unholy creature from the pits of Hell thought that this was a good combination?

Esquire: I like the kid in Beibers shot in the blue shirt. He's being hit on by some chick. He's like 9. I think Beibers a pimp.

Crowbar: This is where Bieber's money actually comes from. He seduces all these young girls with promises of being able to touch his feathery hair, then he just whores them out to the kind of kids we were at age 9.

Esquire: And Sean seems to really be struggling with the whole concept of "try not to touch girls when you first meet them". He reminds me of Lenny, from Of Mice and Men. He's gonna break those girls. He just wanted to pet the rabbits.

Crowbar: Does that mean Bieber's going to have to mercy-kill him at the end of this video?

Esquire: It depends if Beiber's ho's are packing heat.

Crowbar: Oh shit. They've cloned Sean Kingston, and he's out for blood.

Esquire: It's like an infection. Soon everyone on the streets will be awkwardly touching each other and talking like they have a mouth full of cottonballs.

Crowbar: And singing in that nasally, chubby-sounding voice of his.

Esquire: BWWWWWWAAAAAAANNNNS

Crowbar: You can't hear the music, gentle reader, but the chorus to this song is gibberish. Frankly, if I was Justin Bieber, I wouldn't be calling people shorty.

Esquire: First of all, it's "shawty". Second of all, what line is he trying? The "Let's go back to my place where we will be all alone except for my mom caus she'll be driving and then she has to go to work so we can play the xbox" or the "I no longer think you have kooties"

Crowbar: Shawty? Shawty isn't a word, Esquire. If I asked an Oxford professor to define 'shawty', he would kick me in the balls for being a bitch.

Esquire: Ummm...Crowbar? I'm quite sure shawty is an actual word. They have "bling bling" in there too.

Crowbar: I have journalistic integrity, so I'm going to wait until after this review to shoot you and then myself.

Esquire: How about you first, then I make awkward sexual advances on your dog?

Crowbar: That sentence almost made me want to listen to more of this song to drown out your noise. Almost

Esquire: WOO AW DA BWEZ DAW EEN DA WAAWWW

Crowbar: Pink shirt. I'm sorry, pink shirt? If any other man were to wear a pink shirt, he would be mocked, and justly so. What lets Bieber get away with this?

Esquire: Several generations of wogs. Heck, they wear a pink shirt, it's cool, as long as your collars popped and you look like you don't give a shit when coddling you girlfriend, but unpop that collar and look at her for once? Your a faggot.

Crowbar: Bieber's collar isn't popped though. Even now, a faint howl echoes over the moors. The werewogs are hungry.

Esquire: You may think we are being a tad racist, but there is an honest to God store in Europe called Wogland. It's in Bosnia. Go figure. Also, "Ia, Ia! Hear the eldritch howls of "FUUULLLY SIIIK"

Crowbar: To your left, you can see Bieber in his natural habitat, getting rejected by sane women. To your right is a picture of Jabba the Hutt.

Esquire: I've made too many cracks about Peanut MnM's voice sounding indistinguishable from human language. So I'm gonna lay off that. Beiber, should have popped your collar bro. Now your gonna have to spend the night awkwardly fiddling with your balls in your pockets.

Crowbar: Fuck off bitch, I'm playing Zelda

Esquire: Is that what he's looking at? The picture? The hell kind of guy is this?

Crowbar: The kind of guy who would wear a lone diamond earring with the gold chain. You know, those were valuable once, but they're ruined now.

Esquire: Tainted, by what the wogs call "El Ugaybro". I wonder what the market price is after it's been stuck in between the rolls of fat on his stomach after a long night of being rejected?

Crowbar: Worthless if you sell it as jewelry, but his fatty sweat can be scraped off and used as a substitue for kerosene.

Esquire: Can we have one conversation, just one, where you don't talk about harvesting black people?

Crowbar: It...it's just a hobby.

Esquire: It's not victimless, like twilight fan collecting. Black people have feelings.

Crowbar: I'm pretty sure Sean Kingston only feels hunger, like a rabid animal.

Esquire: I bet that when he's hunting for 14 year old girls, he makes a low gurgling, like a vuvuzela.

Crowbar: I feel a little bad for that kid in the middle. He clearly wants death, but I don't have the heart to put him out of his misery.

Esquire: See the way he reaches for the camera? He's clearly asking for help. He hasn't been assimilated yet. The girl on the right has. Note the expressionless eyes. The man on the left has resigned to trying to chisel his way out. It's futile. He knows it is. But it keeps his mind out of the awful realization that he's in a Beiber/Kingston video.

Crowbar: I think this is what Harlan Ellison originally wanted to write about in 'I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream', but couldn't do it because it was too scary.

Esquire: Watch this picture while listening to "Laughing With..." then you too shall learn the meaning of futility.

Crowbar: It's like the collaborative efforts of Kafka, Nietzche and a bucket of dissociative drugs.

Esquire: He leant low to the ground, grabbed some dirt with his fingertips. Smelled it. It's scent filled his nostrils. "Another regular video?". He laughed. He really hoped it was. Before he smelt it, he had his doubts. But now it was definite. "It's Gaga".

Crowbar: Dammit Esquire, I had just managed to put all those memories behind me.

Esquire: Have you been going to the therapist I recommended? You should really learn to deal with Bad Romance in a healthy way. Those guinea pigs have already been traumatized enough.

Crowbar: EVERY TIME I LOOK INTO THEIR EYES I SEE HER

Esquire: Angus, please no, don't do this, I love you, we all love you. Not again Angus, please.

Crowbar: On your left, Bieber contemplates objectivist epistemology. On your right, Kingston indicates where his bikini area is, and your life is worse for it.

Esquire: "Hey baby, want me to pee inside you? That's the gist I got from the playboy I found! But then my mom burned it. Turns out your not supposed to burn magazines cause they st-Oh, okay, your walking away...bye!" That is of course, the translated version. In real life, that would be an almost maddening array of "wa" "fwa" and "dwa"'s. It would be like the adults from Peanuts suddenly all got together and made a voice from hell.

Crowbar: Not pictured; people with dignity.

Crowbar: Esquire, help! Which one do I punch!

Esquire: Let's stop and review:

• Peanut MnM who warbles
• Salad bowl head

Crowbar: Actually, you know who I want to punch? You, gentle readers. You let this happen. You didn't try to stop the rise of the Bieber Empire.

Esquire: Now now Angus, They are not to blame. If anything, it's the Greys. They wanted people to get used to large eyes and globular heads. It's them.

Crowbar: I was vaguely hoping we could do a review in which you didn't bring up aliens.

Esquire: Bad Romance

Crowbar: You did it then, too! Do you have some kind of sieve-like memory that filters every event that makes you look stupid?

Esquire: I know what this is really about. It's about the raccoon tail isn't it? You don't like it.

Crowbar: Yes, I don't like the raccoon tail. I never liked the raccoon tail. I tell you this every single day.

Esquire: I know, but every time I look at that mole, all is forgiven.

Crowbar: Kingston's worried about the sweat in his armpits and the tightening of his pants.

Esquire: If he becomes anymore unsure about whether or not he wants to hold hands it's gonna become a philosophical debate.

Crowbar: He can join Bieber in his contemplation of mortality, and they can both be as one in my deepest, darkest, most repressed memories.

Esquire: What about that night at new years when you tired out, fell asleep, and I went through your pants?

Crowbar: Trust me, I was conscious throughout that. I had a purpose, there. Enjoy your fortieth birthday, by the way.

Esquire: I hear a ticking, is that bad?

Crowbar: Wow, three whole minutes of this crap. I could have achieved nirvana, but no, that's lost to me now.

Esquire: Really now, what would you have done in those three minutes that was more important then talking to me?

Crowbar: I...I would have read about Deadpool.

Esquire: And then cry.

Nightwheel is a liar

Oh the ironing

Coon be all like "watcha lookin at honky"