Are We Sure The Apocalypse Didn't Happen This Weekend? The Billboard Music Awards: A Pictorial Recap
Britney, Oops, She Did It Again: By “it” I mean a shameless and calculated bid for your affection exploiting the general consensus that two ladies kissing is some hot sh*t. Oops.
Whip It Where: Beyonce, pulling it off. Britney, my peach, stick to the faux bicuriosity.
Jazz Flute Is For Little Fairy Boys: Gentlemen Hall’s weird-o trancey rock flute, on the other hand? That’s for totally macho, ascot-wearing Lord Bowlers.
Putting The Stool in Stool-Singing: Seriously, that’s some intense yet stationary wailing, Lady Antebellum. Nice stools, though. Those lucite?
Statue-tory Rape: Listen, Taylor Swift ain’t no baby. She’s 21. She’s sexed John Meyer and Jake Gyllenhaal and lived to write trite but extremely catchy (and yes maybe sometimes I dance in my car to them) songs about it. But she is quite young and I would gladly vote Mr. Schuester there “Teacher Most Likely To Bad Touch A Student.” And the lead singer of Train? Well…
Speaking Of Bad Touch: Can you get the herp through your fingertips? Is that how science works? I hope not.
Just The Tip: But if that IS how it works, these gloves are the worst protection I’ve ever seen.
Just The Hip: Former Disney product, Selena Gomez, is obviously trying to bring the demure sex in this outfit. It’s…awkward.
The Faux-Hawking Dead: It’s like a Zombie Brothel hath spilled upon the stage and the only thing that can save us is the slick lyricism of Far East Movement. What’s that, Far East Movement? “Fly like a G-6?” F*ck.
$eriously: If this were the apocalypse/rapture/whatever, and I had to bet on who would make it out alive, It would be a tie between Ke$ha’s bat$hittery and
Snoop Dogg’s perma-cool pigtailery.
Peas At Last: But the peas are going down first. No no, your Tron dress and spangly yarmulke can’t save you now. Au contraire, they will only attract the oncoming storm.