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January 30, 2015 | celebrity | Lex Jurgen | 0 Comments
In a more civilized society, we’d tell faded pop stars that we were driving them to MTV to discuss a comeback reality show and then we’d shoot them humanely in the back of the head. Thanks to the new Backstreet Boys documentary I can now not learn a bunch of things about the turn of the millennium boy band that I never cared about the first time. For instance, did you know the band never broke up. That’s sort of like Joe Namath saying he never retired from the Jets. I’m not sure what it means in practical terms. The band still tours with some of its original members, playing airport lounges for now 30-something women who remember touching themselves for the first time to thoughts of A.J. McClean and Nick Carter. There’s Nick Carter now grabbing his chunky wife’s ass. He looks like somebody told Jeremy Renner to play a retard. Still feel like stirring the honeypot beneath the cover of darkness? If only they didn’t have to make a documentary about everything.
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