Crowbar: It wounds me that you would imply our reasoning is out of date.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
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.
