I was at an industry event and, like I've had the distinct pleasure of doing from time to time, I was at a private listening party for Justin's new record. I'm not sure what record it was, but it was his new material and I, along with about eight other industry heads, were hearing it before the public. And Justin was there. In fact, when he showed up, I got a weird read off of him. It was an apparent and noticeable "not this again" type of vibe. He walks in, barely acknowledges everyone who has gathered in excitement to meet him, glances at all of us and says, "Whaddup?" and then proceeds to take off his jacket and get a plate of celery and carrots.
Everyone was sitting in a large circle and there was one spare seat for Justin--right next to me. He plops down beside me and says, "Aight, folks. I guess ya'll are here to hear the new record. It's done and I have it with me today. I'm quite proud of this album. It's the best work I've ever done. I don't want to stall it so let's get right to it." At which point the music starts.
Halfway through the first song, I feel my pocket begin to vibrate. Then, much to my sheer horror, I hear my cellular telephone ringing. Now, the ringtone was Public Enemy's "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos" which would indicate it's my lovely wife calling and I'm thinking, "Not now, honey. Geez, not now!" I feel Justin's eyes piercing through me. He's looking at my pocket. The ringing gets louder and now it's vibrating like a dryer full of cinder blocks.
Not now! Bad, bad, bad!
I decide to take the fall and yank it out of my pocket to silence it. I pull it out and it's not my lovely wife at all. Mahan Cell it reads. Damn it, Mayhem! What could he possibly want from me at that moment, in that circumstance, sitting right next to Justin Timberlake?
I push the button on the side to silence it and the whole room is looking at me. I'm sure it's the feeling of a deer that strayed from the pasture and finds itself surrounded by hungry wolves. I thought, "This is when I die a horrible death." And on a Wednesday, no less.
Justin just comes out and says, "Dude, what are you doing?"
"I'm sorry, man. I thought..."
"You knew we were going to be listening to the new record in here. Why didn't you turn it off, yo?"
"You're right, Justin, I just..."
"I mean, have you not been to one of these before?"
"I just forgot, Justin. I'm really sorry."
Then Justin just col' came out and said what everyone in there was thinking, "You're an asshole, dude. You really are."
At this point, I'm absolutely shaking in fear, sweat begins to roll off my head and down my shirt. I begin to shake nervously and then...
BOOMI'm awake. I don't know if there's anything you can take from this story except that you can say "Timberlake" and "nightmare" in the same sentence. Maybe it's the lesson of turning off that cellular telephone when in certain company. I mean, I've been noted for failing to do so up at work. Maybe that's the lesson I need to take from this. Maybe it's that Justin Timberlake is thug-thuggery and dude can go off. I'm probably lucky I woke up with ten fingers. Things could've gotten really hairy in there. Maybe it's a lesson to Mahan to stop calling me. Just recognize, for all you cats that swear Justin's a softy, you don't sell 7,000,000 records just by flossing every night and shampooing twice. The dude drinks the blood of grizzly bears.