Laughing on a jet ski at Diddy’s house a few days after it all went down made things pretty obvious. Last week’s Larry King interview sealed it. Chris Brown is a worthless fester-sore of the highest order.
If you’re reading this right now and in anyway thinking, “He’s just a kid who was raised in an abusive home, he didn’t know any better,” then take another look at those pictures of Rihanna after he was done with her (I’ll give you a minute right now as I double check to see how exactly you spell “Rihanna” which I keep attempting to spell like “Rhiannon”).
There. Now that we’re done with that, you’re no doubt on the same page with me, unless you’re a fifteen-year-old idiot. Unfortunately, those fifteen-year-old idiots, joined by sadly not-fifteen-anymore idiots, are a vocal bunch, and all you need to do is look at the comment sections of your lesser-intelligence websites, your US Weeklies and what-have-you. You’ll see that the bitch had it coming, she took his phone and swatted at him too, that Chris watched his mother be abused and it’s all he knows, that this is the lifestyle of the urban community and just par for the course, blah the blah with the blah in the parlor with the wrench.
Let’s pick this apart, because these horrid useless women, and yes, it’s always women for some reason because the notion of sisterhood be damned, would probably crumble at being picked apart in real life, so why spare them on the Internet?
Item 1: The bitch had it coming.
Look, Chris Brown’s isn’t exactly my cup of tea, what with the typical art school smug musical superiority and all. I actually had a bit of a like towards him for his short role on The OC, and if you know me at all you know that anyone affiliated with Josh Schwartz’s magnum opus receives a life pass from me, even Mischa Barton and the guy that played Volchok that’s now in Twilight. But I don’t appreciate him or his music enough to understand where these people are coming from with a love so deep that they can’t possibly imagine that he’d hurt someone unless she really deserved it.
To try to understand it, I will insert the name of a beloved celeb in the place of Chris Brown and see how I’d react. Let’s try Robert Downey, Jr.
… yeah, no difference. If I heard tomorrow that RDJ had beaten the ever-loving shit out of his wife, I’d be boycotting future Iron Man flicks and angrily tossing my copies of Less Than Zero and the bootlegged region 2 copy of Ally McBeal Season 4 (damn you, US music rights costs).
Item 2: She took his phone. And she hit him first! Harlot!
Rihanna is roughly the size of my pinky toe. She is pocket-sized and perhaps the same size as Chris Brown’s cell phone. Perhaps I’m giving myself away here, but who among us hasn’t at some point in our teens or early twenties checked the phones of our suspicious significant others. It’s not cool and it’s really crazy and obnoxious, but we’ve done it, and that’s why our high school and college years are sometimes known as our “sad years” to everyone who lives in my house and is named me. But in fairness to RiRi, she actually found something I never did – proof that her crazy was justified. So she sat on his phone and slapped at him with a bony wrist the size of a remote control. She could have lit his phone on fire and fashioned it into a makeshift firecracker, the boy’s rich. He could have gotten another one if she damaged it in some way with her twelve ounce body. But instead, he chose the more Lifetime Movie appropriate response.
Item 3: He comes from an abusive home.
Ah, the catch-all for any and all bad and violent behavior.
Item 4: That’s just how they do it in R&B.
Ah, the catch-all for politically-correct racist people. “That’s just how it is in that ‘community.’ We can’t fault them and keep them down.” God I hate white people sometimes. Okay, he’s barely R&B for one thing. Chris Brown is to R&B what Chris Gains was to whatever it was Garth Brooks was going for. He was mainstream pop as performed by a black gentleman. His tunes were catchy and hugely popular and a very top-forty friendly version of R&B, but so were Boyz II Men and the one who did the “baby … I’m sorry …” breakdowns in the middle didn’t go around slapping on Dionne Farris.
His career has thus far been unharmed. And from what we’ve seen, his relationship hasn’t been either. Thank god for a judge who said that he can’t go near her, because they both seem trapped in some weirdass Sid and Nancy thing without all the cool heroin drugs the kids today seem to like. And this isnt’ the first time this has happened. Mickey Rourke is a huge star again, and people were devastated when he didn’t get the Oscar. People apparently forgot one of the reasons he stopped being so famous, and it wasn’t just that he totally pulverized his face into some kind of gumbo. He stalked and beat his ex, Carre Otis. Josh Brolin may have possibly allegedly knocked around Diane Lane and we all still really like him. And lest we forget, before Dave Chappelle made him all quotable and hilarious, Rick James held a girl hostage, tortured her and forced her to have sex with him.
Some cases are different. Forgiveness and second chances are all well and good when deserved. But forgetness should never set in. This 20-year-old adult beat his girlfriend so hard she almost lost consciousness. He slammed her head against the door repeatedly, bit her and punched her in the face again and again. This wasn’t a spontaneous punch, not that those are forgivable either. This was a long bloody unfair fight against a girl who’s maybe a hundred pounds and three apples tall. He’s shown not a single sign of remorse, no matter what halfass pseudo apology he gave during Larry King (you may have had to search for it; I sure did), and he’s done absolutely nothing in the fight against domestic abuse, making it pretty clear that he won’t until he’s forced to by law and he will then expect people to commend him on doing something that would be a legal violation if he didn’t. He is worthless and awful AND he insulted Oprah. And that should not be forgotten. Dick.
On an end note, I hope you enjoyed the diatribe soapoxiness that you’ve so come to expect from a frothy celeb column on a pop culture humor site [shakes head no]. Next week, back to something that at least pretends to be funny. But only if you stop hitting girls.
Courtney Enlow is a writer living in Chicago and working as a corporate shill to pay the bills. You can contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.