The Word: This viewer’s biggest WTFs of the 2013 VMAs

Now that I’ve had a full day to let the clusterf— that was this year’s VMAs sink in (and to recover from the 12-hour hangover brought on by the magnum bottle of wine required to get through the thing), I have some questions. So many questions (not the least of which is why they still carry on with this charade at all — next year let’s just have a Best Knocked Up Teen Baby Bump Awards and call it a day).

Wherefore art thou Biebs?

And here’s the first question: Where was Justin Bieber?! I can’t be the only one who thought his dopey, overly coiffed absence was conspicuous. You guys, I DO NOT THINK HE WAS INVITED. I think that Justin Bieber’s 2013 Video Music Awards invitation was “lost in the mail.”

My God, if this isn’t the swiftest fall from grace since Lindsay Lohan nosedived her career into a big pile of cocaine and regret, I don’t know what is. Wasn’t the little tyke the unofficial star of last year’s show? I repeat: I do not think that Justin Bieber was present at or even invited to this year’s VMAs.

If he was, you wouldn’t know it from MTV’s coverage of the debacle, which was apparently expressly designed to give viewers alternate play-by-plays of exactly what Will Smith’s family and Taylor Swift made of the whole thing.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not mad about this. Moderately amused, at best. But if, as I suspect (hope), the Biebs was really not at the VMAs, I wonder what he spent Sunday night doing instead. I personally like to imagine that he watched an edited tape of the show his camp had doctored to feature clips of his old performances, in his coziest underoos from atop a throne made of Twizzlers and soiled tube socks. But that’s my issue.

‘NSYNC reu…oh.

I suspect that I’m not of the popular opinion here, but WTF was up with that “reunion?” That was not a reunion, that was a travesty.

I cried into my giant goblet of merlot a little bit, thinking about Chris Kirkpatrick and Joey Fatone trying on their suits in the semi-wide trailer they now share, practicing the old dance moves and regaling each other with stories of how bright the future is looking now that the old gang is getting back together. So bright they’ll need shades, I bet they said, chuckling.

And then… that “reunion” happened. Timberlake let them out of their crates for, what, maybe 30 seconds? Just enough time for JC to sneak in a warbly “ohhh baby” for old time’s sake, before those poor suckers were ushered offstage and back into obscurity so Justin could get back to work forgetting they existed. For chrissakes, at least Beyonce let Michelle and Kelly sing a whole song before she shut them down again.

And then, later, there’s Timberlake accepting his big shiny award “on behalf of all of them.” Gesturing vaguely off stage, where the four of them were being stripped of their rented suits or whatever while the valet handed them back the keys to their used Kias. Waxing on about he couldn’t have done it without them, when we all know what he really meant was that he could not have continued to do it with them. Oh man, I’m sort of crying right now.

T. Swift throws major shade

I really don’t want to give Taylor Swift any more press than she’s already gobbling up (though she does need the sustenance, sister is skiiiiinny) but deference must be paid to the best moment caught on camera at the 2013 VMAs. And that includes Drake desperately trying to mentally transport himself somewhere else — anywhere else — during Miley’s twerk-pocalypse AND the Smith family’s communal reaction to, well, everything.

I’m talking about Tay Sway not-so-discreetly telling ex-boyfriend and current male pop tart du jour Harry Styles to kindly STFU, of course.

You’ve all seen it by now (and if you haven’t I suggest you stop reading this and go Google it. Or look at that big GIF up at the top of this post). While Styles yaps on about Yeezus-knows-what (JK, I doubt he was listening either), Swift turns to Selena Gomez (I think. All these kids look the same to me) and says what cannot be lip read as anything but “shut the f— up.”

I never thought the day would come that I would agree with anything that fell from the mouth of this particular babe so, you know, that was a thing.

But, srsly, who invited Kevin Hart?

More specifically, why do people continue to invite Kevin Hart to anything, or perpetuate the ill-advised myth that this man is a comedian?

Kevin Hart is not funny. A grown man screaming vaguely offensive strings of words that are definitely not jokes into a vacuum of mild horror and not-so-mild awkward silence isn’t funny. It’s awkward.

I’m going to go on record and say that Kevin Hart’s inclusion in any big event is a bigger buzzkill than your mom popping into your bedroom mid-coitus and offering up her personal stash of sex toys and instructional video tapes. Comedically speaking.

At one point I think he said something about putting his face near Gaga’s butt? I’m not sure because I was too busy humming “We Can’t Stop” as loud as I could and wishing for death.

Let’s stop having Kevin Hart do things, is my point.


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