New Kids on the Backstreet Boys sounds like the name of a gay parody porn from 1999 that I would’ve spent 197 hours trying to download off of Napster thanks to my dial-up internet connection always getting interrupted by stupid ass phone calls! So last night was the American Music Awards and I still can’t believe I watched the whole thing in its entirety. It felt like I was the only sober bitch at a rave circa 2000.
Enrique Iglesias tried to stroke out my endorphins with a glow stick light show, but it did nothing for me. The Black Eyed Peas (who make me want to give myself a damn black eye) tried to take my hand and lead me to the speaker so that I could put my ear to it and feel the bass hump my senses, but I left them hanging. And EVERYONE tried to get me to skip under a confetti money shot, but I couldn’t even bother to get up. And seriously, what the hell was up with those confetti canons?! Is it necessary to bust out a confetti canon AFTER EVERY SINGLE PERFORMANCE?! A confetti canon is like a hard dick, after popping out its 10th load of the night on top your head, you start to think yourself, “When is it going to stop, because I really need to go and watch the Pawn Stars marathon.” The only time I felt that the confetti canon CAME WITH FEELING was during the best performance of the night: NKOTBSB! And that’s the only time I dropped E and started to feel the roll.
Seriously, when that line-up of hot old bitches grabbed at their crotches at the same time, every 30-something’s panties blew off. Yup, that’s why your panties ripped themselves off last night. And there you were thinking that your daily kegel exercises simply made your queefs stronger. Nope, it was the all-mighty simultaneous thrust of NKOTBSB! Staple your panties down to your desk and relive it all over again!