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Rihanna would be a terrible guidance counsellor

RihannaShe may be beautiful (like a diamond in the sky – or what ever that means) but Rihanna is definitely not the doe-eyed figure of innocence that once invited a ghostly silence of remorse any time someone shook a fist in her face. After the very public beating Rihanna endured after that infamous night, everybody immediately leapt to her defence. Suddenly all the feminists jumped up on their high horses, beating their chests like Neanderthals and requesting for Chris Brown to be burned at the stake. She was the people’s choice, and songs such as Russian Roulette and Love the Way You Lie basically endorsed that woesome point of her woebegone life. She was upset. Fast-track forward a few more years, and you’ll find it’s a very different story.

Adoringly labelled as ‘filth’ by many excited sweaty teenage boys, it seems no wonder she got tired of this innocent act and went straight back to her roots. Having recently posted Twitter pictures of her semi-nude, including some typically rogue ones, like the topless picture of her in running shorts and trainers. But this isn’t what has caught the tabloids off guard as of late, it was the question of who was taking these photos? Could it be… him?

Leaving little to the imagination, Rihanna quite blatantly kneels down and suckles from the udders of public outrage, curdling with the overwhelming density of fame-hoggery. Scroll down and her next uploaded picture is of Chris Brown spread-eagled across her bed. But it’s what we should expect from someone so deeply entwined in the celebworld that they go way off the hinges as a form of rebellion. Seeing her performance on X Factor on Sunday night was enough gratification of this fact for me.

She sang brilliantly, yes. Her clothes were flawless, of course they were. But there was a point where I was afraid she might claw one of her own eyes out right there on stage just because she was in so deep with the song. Someone  please tell this girl the song makes no sense. She’s there, convulsing on stage in a self-inflicted flood warning and no-one carries her away in a straightjacket? Outrageous.

With someone as far from human as possible, Rihanna is somewhat interesting. She’s a bit weird, gets punched and likes it. Brilliant, isn’t it? But what do you expect from a lady who has basically been given a laminated document  of all the dos and donts of handling this smacked-up situation? DO cry lots and go on Oprah. DO sell a ton of singles about getting a black eye. And the biggest ‘don’t’? DON’T get back with that boy. So, quite brusquely, her first response – as any unorthodox human being might do – you rebel. You fight The Man, you yield no mercy, even if it is over a merciless act. It’s so simple to yield our pitchforks in Rihanna’s face and tell her she’s shamed and besmirched her name, but she hasn’t. She’ll go on to sell millions more records, she’ll continue to post endless naked photos with Chris Brown probably spit-roasting her in the process, and we’ll learn to not bat an eyelid. By nature, the pair of them are quite naturally a few pickles short of a sandwich, so the only thing for us normys left to do is sit back, grab our popcorn and watch them both get food poisoning.



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