Boybands Don’t Wear Skinny Jeans

I really should be working on next week’s column and not causing my editrix to pull her hair out because once again I’m going to squeak past my deadline, but this is way too distracting. Yes, I know the Backstreet Boys and their brand spanking new Vegas residency is stale news  (and so is this James Corden clip), but my motto is, has been and always will be: better late than never. So I just watched this and am listening to what the universe is telling me: my arse needs to be in Vegas next year. I will finally, finally indulge the young teenage girl I was. The one who had bootleg posters and all the cassette (cassette!) tapes of their albums. I’m old and I want to be happy. Leave me alone.

So now I’m sucked into the black hole that is Ticketmaster and gunpowder, treason and plot plot plotting my way into how to make this happen.

ps. If I didn’t already love James Corden enough, as of today I am absolutely TEAM CORDEN all the way. That’s right. ALL CAPS. TEAM CORDEN. TEAM CORDEN!

pps. With this and other upcoming trips, I may need to peddle some organs I can live without. Will someone teach me how to get on the dark web and do this Bitcoiny thing? I don’t want to wake up in a bathtub in some godforsaken motel room with an icepack pressed to my belly and no memory of the last 24 hours. Thanks.

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