It started off like any other Tuesday. Crushing empties on our foreheads. Downing 40's. Pong. Then someone's like, "Bro's, you know what we gotta see, like, right now?"
And we were like, "What?"
And he's like, "The goddamn Justin Bieber movie, that's what."
And I was like, "Baby, baby baby. Hell yes." I'd already bootlegged it that morning. I pulled it up on the nearest computer. And the magic began.
First of all, 3D. Yeah. It's in 3D. We'd just bought glasses for our last movie watching sesh of Disney's Tangled, so we were set. Let me tell you, 2 dimensions is 1 too few to live the Biebs. It's like he's actually coming out of the screen to touch you. Which would be tight, but unlikely. With 3D, when he’s far away, he’s smaller and it’s sad, but when he’s up close he’s like bam right there. Amazing.
By the first minute, we were sucked in. His boyish good looks, sideswoop lesbian lego haircut, castrati-pitched voice. Like a bro dream. Plus, he gets mad chicks. Like, crazy stalker preteens…but aren't they all, amiright?
Like, every girl, ever.
The documentary makes a point of showing that JB came from nothing. Like, upper-middle class America nothing. And he worked his way all the way to the top. Now that's a moderately-rich to riches story if I've ever heard one.
Also, the Bieber baby clips. What a kid. While I was still eating cheerios off a plate and putting coins up my nose, Biebz was cranking out jams like Knotts. He could drum on a table… with his hands. Like, incredible. And he sang and stuff too. A true child prodigy. He's like Mozart. Brozart. Or like Michael Jackson in a little white boy's body. But I digress.
He can even hold a guitar.
The movie gives you a behind the scenes look at Justin Bieber's tour and life too, and he’s, like, a totally chill bro. He likes to kick it. And ball with the bros. And get his hair done. And just dance. If I had a nickel every time I wanted to just dance, I’d have, like, a lot of nickels. And JB can really cut rug. And dude, he could be a total d-bag with how loaded he is and I wouldn’t care. But he’s so humble.
Humble.Anyway, forty brews and two boxes of tear-tissues later, the curtain closes, movie ends. We were so amped we made up a couple dance routines and sang “Baby” into our empty cobras. It was tight.
Best. Bronight. Ever.