Thursday, March 31, 2011

In Defense of Rebecca Black

Ok, ok, ok. I'm sure most of you have seen this video by now. Yes, the lyrics are horrendous and the video itself is hilariously awkward. The internet has already shown its displeasure with Rebecca Black's music career in an epidemic of butthurt so severe, you would think the poor girl was personally flooding Japan's reactors. Ironically, I don't share the general public's butthurt on this one. I'm not just trying to go against the grain here, I really do think this girl's gotten a bad rap. Well, make that two bad raps, but only one was shoehorned into her song by a pedophile in an Escalade. The other is that she's taken so much heat for a song she barely had anything to do with. The lyrics, music video, etc. were all a generic production package designed by a vanity record label to fool doting parents into parting with their cash. ARK Music Factory no doubt promised little Rebecca's parents that she would be transformed into a Dinsey-sponsored slutlord overnight, although their only real ambition was to fleece bored and gullible white people of their disposable income. Her notoriety due to the sheer incompetence of the songwriting was an unintended side effect, the result of her actually singing the chorus well and making a perversely catchy song.

So what am I butthurt about, you may ask? Cuz you knew I wasn't going to come back and post unless my hate meter was running in the fucking red. Well, in response to Rebecca's video, that dumpy-faced cunt Miley Cyrus had to go and run her goddamn mouth, saying with a sigh: "It should be harder to be an artist."

Really, Miley? Are you sure? Is that what you actually want, you brainless skank? Because I'm sure it was SO FUCKING HARD for you. I can just imagine you in your early twenties, grinding out a living at a supermarket cash register as you dreamed about one day hitting it big, while simultaneously realizing that your talent had become an albatross around your neck, a burden to your family and a source of constant disappointment, driving you away from all social contact. You would drown your sorrows in Jim Beam and Natty Light until those fleeting bursts of creativity, which would only serve to remind you of how much your talent was being wasted, simply pissed down the drain without an proper outlet for expression. You would wonder if you were meant to just die alone, unrecognized and perpetually frustrated, until that one big break -- that consummation of your life that finally validated all the blood and tears and suicide attempts and empty anonymous sex with people you met on Craig's List. You, Miley Cyrus, had finally made it on the basis of your overwhelming talent in a heartless, crapshoot of an industry.

Oh wait, no. None of that happened to you. You're just a spoiled bitch who rode a tidal wave of nepotism into a bullshit career. Your first name is Destiny for Christ's sake. And now, you want to act like you're part of some rarified intellecutal elite, like you and Justin Bieber are the Fitzgerald and Hemingway of the internet generation? Give me a fucking break, you cum-guzzling nimrod. Do us all a favor and go back to taking fat bong rips and destroying your family. I'll just be eating my cereal and kickin' in the backseat with Rebecca B.