Michael Bublé Incites Rage

[EDIT - November 2016] - I wrote this post years ago, and it still gets a surprising number of reads. I am an asshole, no doubt. This is mindless blather. I've just recently learned that Mr. Buble's son, Noah, an innocent and certainly wonderful little 3 year old boy has been diagnosed with cancer. I extend my actual real sincere heartfelt concern to him and his family at this time. I have a 3 year old, and I can't imagine the agony, fear, sadness and turmoil they must be experiencing. So, yes, I am obviously an asshole with my irrelevant post below, but I hope Noah can overcome this.... as quickly as possible. Make a full recovery and that he will flourish and the family can rest easy. 

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Yes, I said it. It's totally irrational, not at all logical, and unclear even to me. But it's true.

The moment I even hear his name uttered, I can feel the hairs raise on the back of my neck (and not in a good way). I cannot change the radio station fast enough when his voice comes on. It makes me blind with rage, for some strange reason.

Exhibit A: MB causing inner rage right now. Probably will never be able to look at this post again. Thanks a lot.

In my mind, I overlap his face with John Mayer which automatically gives him about 90,000 points for douchey-ness. "But Stephanie," you say "he is NOT John Mayer so why punish poor Bublé?". You might also say "Stephanie, don't start sentences with the word BUT".  Who knows, I can't read your minds, people.

Exhibit B: Douchebag Mayer (anyone who hurts Team Aniston is no friend of mine, kids)

 See, not really similar. Except for the douchiness.



I hear such a holier-than-thou-whilst-trying-to-sound-deeply-soulsearching-and-sexy tone in his voice it makes me want to punch my radio or maybe even MB himself. I can't even type his name now.

I HATE that he is Canadian. I loved French class, and I loved those accents over the e's and o's... but his last name irritates the piss out of me.


We recently attended a gorgeous wedding, arrived at the reception, met the receiving line, smiled/hugged/complimented and proceeded into the room - to our assigned table. I was dressed up (yay!), so was BF (yay!), I had bought new shoes (yay!), we would hopefully dance (yay!), I was so pumped and happy and... wait.... something was amiss. Something wasn't right.

The hairs on my neck were standing up... WTH? On the large projection screen, there he was in all of his glory, MB on a neverending loop in concert!!! Seriously?? No, seriously, really, seriously, please no!

No amount of antipasto bar or wine can drown that shit out. Poor BF was subjected to my pissiness until finally, thank the gods, the projection screen retracted and my nerves were able to calm. It seriously messed with my head. It was possibly the longest hour of my life. (It may have only been 20 minutes, these things are mysterious).

WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!?!? (Well, okay, okay, with respect to this, I mean).... Though, just a note, at least 900 other people hate him according to Facebook! Yay, I am not alone!

Ooooh, and THIS HERE is good, too. Go ahead, don't be afraid to go there. It's what you've suspected deep down all along....

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