Why I'm considering changing my last name

My last name is dangerously close to Bieber. Lately, that's a little too close for comfort. Let me be clear:

My last name = sane, nice. 

Bieber = lunatic punk assbag. 

Need proof?

Consider, if you will, the incident with Bieber's neighbor, where Bieber and his thugs egged the neighbor's house and shouted expletives. This, my friends, is a boy who needed to be spanked more as a child. It's not too late for his mother to give him a good hard slap on the ass, because he wears his damn pants so low his ass is right there, ripe for the smacking. He had issues with the same neighbor last year over either a loud party or him driving his loud car up and down the hood, depending on which rag you read. Either way, he's a damn punk, if you ask me, which you didn't. Any 'artist' who finds it funny to spit off the balcony onto adoring fans, in my humble opinion, deserves an ass-kicking.

Look, I don't know if this kid's got talent or not, because he's become too big for his own britches for me to care to listen to his 'music'. If "Baby" and "Girlfriend" are any indication of his 'talent', then I'm gonna go with NO. There are artists out there who are whackjobs (hello? Lada Gaga, Madonna I'm talking to you) but their music is undeniably good (ok, WAS good in Madonna's case), despite their antics, you enjoy listening to them. But in this kid's case, his dumbass behavior continues to tarnish any good he could possibly be doing for himself. So unless he quits the music biz and flies to Haiti to help the orphans, or gets a college degree, becomes a scientist and cures cancer, I'm going to continue to believe that he should've been told "NO" more when he was little. Spoiled brats become entitled adults.

When you surround yourself with people who kiss your ass and tell you that you can do no wrong, you start to believe it. Look at Michael Jackson. Look at Mike Tyson. That's why I don't travel with a posse. I don't want to get too big for my own britches. I don't want the tabloids following me around with cameras, just waiting for a chance to catch me spitting on fans. No, the thug life's just not for me. 

But the blog life, that's the life for me.