Oh Justin, we’re so very, very (allegedly) happy for you! I’m sorry this is a couple months late, but to be fair, you’re just finding out about it yourself now aren’t you? Wow, who’d a thunk it? Our little Justin Bieber already a daddy. Seems like just yesterday you were also still a child one day younger than you are today… Circles and something about Spring and… sun rise, or something, I think…
Anyway, lazy metaphorical imagery aside, I can’t believe our little Biebs has already grown up. Well, when you think about it, I guess it’s not too surprising to hear that you’re already (allegedly) littering your southern neighbor, these fantasmical United States of the Americas, with Bieber Brood in every town you pass through. I mean, honestly, every night thousands of recently egg producing fans scream at the top of their lungs for your not yet legal loins; does the world honestly expect you not to have a field day with that endless salad and bread sticks of vadge? You are an international pop star, it is fully understood by everyone who purchases a ticket and every parent who sends their lady child to a mega star’s concert venue that by doing so they forfeit their right to not be penetrated by said super star. Why do you think I keep an extra pair of undies tucked into my sock every time I go anywhere that live music could potentially be over heard? Well that’s one of the reasons!
I guess really the only surprise is that we haven’t heard of all of the rest of them yet. But give it ten years or so when American public schools (if such things exists in a decade) are flooded with foreheadless cherubic adolescent song birds, being scooped up in the night by stealth Disney Channel extraction teams. There won’t be enough back streets or numbers of degrees with which to catalog the limitless Boy Banditry!
I do have some sympathy for how your wonderful, life changing, special news has been delivered though Justin. I mean, no body wants the beloved (alleged) mother of their child to tell the entire damned world in a court filing, under the penalty of perjury, that the conception of your child with your fellow procreationist, which also just so happened to be your (alleged) virginal deflorination, had all the romance of a halftime leak and the longevity of the Final Jeopardy theme music. No man wants seven billion human souls to know that the (alleged) half minute grunt and squirt that culminated in your be-fathering was very likely punctuated by the flushing of a nearby urinal by a confused, groggy concert goer.
Now, if I may, I would like to speak directly to the (alleged) mother of your child, Mariah Yeater, for just a moment Justin, if I may. Mariah, Justin is a very special boy to us. We’ve been chronicling Justin Bieber’s crazy year since there’s been a Van Full of Candy. Please, don’t make us have to get our heaviest hair brush and learn you some shit! Don’t you DARE break our Justy Just’s heart! What you got after that show in Los Angeles isn’t just a souvenir! It’s (allegedly) Justin’s first born! The first in line to the Bieber throne! Naturally you will have all of the protection of the “Secret Beliebers” at your back. You will never know we are there, but we will keep you and the child god safe until it is time for its ascension.
Oh the joys you have ahead of you Justin. Parenthood, as I understand it, is a wonderful thing, filled with years of not resenting the unwanted child for its role in robbing you of your youth and your dreams, constant open communication filled with loving respectful conversations about love and respect with never a single moment of feeling taken for granted. There’s also never any nagging thoughts of disappointment in your off spring for the horrible choices they’ve made or fear that your poor parenting might have destroyed the inherent potential of this new life, hamstringing it from birth with your own poorly sculpted psyche, (molded by your own parents’ clumsy, inept guidance) closing doors for it before they ever knew they were ever open at all…
Just remember Justin, every child’s a miracle. And just because this one was (allegedly) conceived in a 30 second tryst in a Staples Center bathroom after a show, doesn’t make it any less so.