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Are We Sure The Apocalypse Didn't Happen This Weekend? The Billboard Music Awards: A Pictorial Recap

By Joanna Robinson | Miscellaneous | May 23, 2011 |

By Joanna Robinson | Miscellaneous | May 23, 2011 |

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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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$eriously: If this were the apocalypse/rapture/whatever, and I had to bet on who would make it out alive, It would be a tie between Ke$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.

And His Sling Was in His Hand | Cronenberg (and Viggo!) and Solondz and Crowe, Oh My! Never Mind Cannes, Send Me to Venice