Justin Bieber, Let Me Be Your Trainer


Dearest Justin, 

Can I call you Justin? Or is that overly familiar? No, of course I can call you Justin. We may not have technically “met” IRL but I feel like I know you through your art, more specifically songs that serve as X-rays of your poet’s soul. When you were like, “Baby, Baby, Baby” I was feeling it! I loved the whole “12 year old Mormon Youtuber with a guitar” thing! It was precious. 

Then you grew up and blew up and I was, and remain, less annoyed with you than most people are. You have at least two songs I really like, “Sorry” and “Love Yourself.” Those are my jams! When I go to karaoke those are my go-to picks. Well, I mean, I haven’t done karaoke in probably two decades. I’m a man with a family, after all, but it’s not entirely out of the question that I might find myself singing one of your songs at karaoke. 

But that’s not what this is about. This isn’t about music. It’s about your OTHER passion, your other art form: celebrity mixed martial arts. You recently challenged Tom Cruise to battle you, one on one, in the octagon, in a match sanctioned by the UFC. Many things about this confused people. Okay, everything about it confused people. After all, you’re not an MMA fighter, Tom Cruise is not an MMA fighter, you’re not known to have some manner of public beef with the Risky Business icon. Also, Cruise is thirty-one years older than you so you wouldn’t be fighting a peer so much as a much, much, much older man.

Your challenge may have bewildered others. But I know exactly why you did it. Tom Cruise’s whole aura is hostile to you and everything you represent. Cruise walks around all day with a look that implicitly but powerfully conveys the message, “My shit don’t stink and Justin Bieber’s mama wears combat boots and a thrift store wig to cover her bald head.” 

If the fight comes down to who has more shitty tattoos—as it inevitably will—Bieber is going to have the advantage.

If the fight comes down to who has more shitty tattoos—as it inevitably will—Bieber is going to have the advantage.

You do not need to take that kind of insult! You did the right thing by challenging Tom Cruise to an MMA fight. You had no other choice. The voices in your head that told you to do that were right, as is the voice that is writing this to you now. Yes, Justin, you are getting VERY sleepy, sleepy enough to be susceptible to literary hypnosis, which is totally a real thing. 

Cruise wasn’t expecting that challenge, which gave you the element of surprise. You knocked him off balance. Clearly you have read, and live by, the strategies set out in The Art of War as I do, and think 50 Cent does as well. 

Now he must accept your challenge or be considered something less than a man by society. That is why you need me to help train you for the big upcoming fight. Consider me your Burgess Meredith in Rocky combined with Dr. Eugene Landy with a little Colonel Tom Parker thrown in for Southern flavor. 

I am a Georgia boy, after all! At this point, you might be wondering what a man who is is visibly out of shape and clearly knows nothing about either MMA fighting or fitness can bring you as a trainer. Well, let’s just say that me not knowing “the fight game” will lower their expectations even further and once again gives us the element of surprise. 


Also, I’m less a traditional trainer than a cult figure type. I am a desperate middle aged man at a crossroads in my life and career. A troubled young man like yourself can only benefit from a strong-willed figure lurking behind the scenes. And I could benefit tremendously from unfettered access to your fortune and the incredible power that goes with it. 

Have you listened to The Shrink Next Door yet? That’s kind of how I see our relationship proceeding. Actually, don’t listen to The Shrink Next Door. I want it to be a nice surprise when our unique, intense bond develops along those lines. 

All my life I have felt like an outcast, a misfit, an outsider doomed to never find his home, his true north, his place in the world. Now I know why: my place in the world, and my only place in the world, is deep within Justin Bieber’s posse, serving as your shadowy spiritual advisor and unquestioned God. 

Now I have a chance to take my rightful place as your trainer and malevolent father/God surrogate, to realize my destiny. I would be a fool not to go for it. 

I’m not saying that I will quickly turn into a belligerent tyrant, but Justin, how would you feel about changing your name to Justin Rabin and making me the primary beneficiary of your will? You have a couple hundred million dollars in the bank. I would love to have hundreds of millions of dollars. It’s kismet.  


So get at me, JB. I’ll be your trainer and so much more. But you’ve got to take that first, crucial step towards giving me complete control over every aspect of your life so the process can begin. Because I’m not just your new trainer: I’m also your new dad, and that’s only the beginning of the many extremely healthy, necessary changes that will be taking place in your life immediately. 

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