Justin Bobby Sucks

Posted at 3:15 PM Dec 11, 2008

By Kenny Herzog



Well, I figure while we're on the subject of The Hills, and while I've subsequently emasculated myself but also made myself out to be a perv in the same four-post span, it's about time to take aim at Audrina Patridge's on-again, off-again, hair-long-again, hair-short-again, faux-surfer, sort-of-wannabe-rebel-badass, second-rate Spicoli boy-toy Justin Bobby.

Now, I'm not about to get on some punk rock high horse. My association with outcast fringe culture was likewise cultivated in suburbia (Long Island to be exact), but dating back to the authentic outgrowth of the hardcore scene, there's always been something unsavory about how West Coast dudes adopt the skater aesthetic. A bro-ham, fraternity-pledging, peer-bullying sort of vibe that befits their lack of exposure to the hardened shifting of seasons and mean urban streets of the Midwest and East Coast.


And Justin Bobby (who deserved such an infantilized nickname after needlessly desiring to change his name from Justin to Bobby) is like the apotheosis of this, wrapped up in a third-generation, cut-from-the-O.C.-mold package of spoiled-brat awfulness.

"Oh, look at me with my laconic articulation, quasi-Zen philosophies, don't-give-a-fuck-personal style and vintage muscle cars/motorcycles... Oh, and then look at me attach those calculated image markers of credibility to a social network that subsists on trendy velvet-rope clubs, trust-fund-kid pool parties and chronically incurable promiscuity with vapid wastoid L.A. floozies."

God,  I love saying floozies. And letting the world know that, Justin Bobby, you suck.

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