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Dear Justin: It's Not Polite to Spit on Fans (And Other Things Your Mother Isn't Telling You)

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Dear Justin:

Look, you seem like you can be a nice enough kid. I've heard about the things you've done for terminally ill children and I've seen the photos of you with your little sibs. And when you let that side of you show, you're kind of sweet.

But seriously, we have to talk about some of the stuff you've been up to lately.

Let's forget about your shirts. You clearly have. Besides, Olivia Wilde has taken up that gauntlet on our collective behalf, although (despite what I'm sure was her best effort) she failed to catch your attention. I believe I speak for many when I say thanks, Olivia, for giving it such a solid try.

Let's talk about spitting off balconies. Or spitting at all, come to think about it. Dude, 12-year-old boys know it's kind of gross to spit. They do it anyway, because they're 12-year-old boys. But you're 19, old enough to have a drink when you come home to Canada, so therefore old enough to know that spitting -- whether or not there are young fans around -- is not cool.

Here's a tip: These are the girls who made you your millions. It is because of them -- the overwhelming majority from middle-class families whose parents had to shell out a day of pay or more to buy tickets to your show as Christmas or birthday presents -- that you have the Ferrari (more about that later), the house in the gated community, and the seemingly endless disposable income to travel with an Axe-soaked entourage. You have what you have because they dedicate their birthday, Christmas and babysitting money to buying t-shirts, posters and perfume bearing your name. The very girls you'd probably have hung out with, if you still lived in your neighbourhood in Stratford, by the way.

Speeding through your neighbourhood and ticking off your neighbours? Wow, Biebs. When an NFL player (or, in this case, a former one), becomes the voice of reason in the insanity that has become your life, you've got to know you've gone too far.

I'm not even going to get into the F**k Bill Clinton/peeing in a bucket someone else has to clean up debacle. I don't know your family, but I am sure you were raised better than that.

Now, I know I'm not the first person to point this out to you. There have been plenty of folks who are fed up with your antics and have called you out on it. Something, by the way, the minions around you should probably be doing, but won't, because they don't want to get booted off the all-expense-paid Justin Bieber Express to Funtown. David Letterman gave it a Herculean effort last time you were on his show. I know, he kind of got ripped for being rough on you, but you've got to be cruel to be kind.

Your mom has said you have "always been someone who has to do things (your) way." Hey, you know what? I like things done my way, too. Ask my husband and daughter. But here's the thing: You may not believe it now, but things won't always go your way. The bigger you are, the harder you fall. And you're kind of big right now. Don't believe me? Ask the Backstreet Boys, New Kids on the Block, Boyz II Men, N Sync, 98 Degrees and the Jonas Brothers. Poor little Frankie never had a chance to get in on that act before it was all over. It happened to them. And it will happen to you. It's only a matter of time. Young girls are fickle and fame is fleeting. Your mum may not want to upset you by telling you that, but I don't have the qualms she does about delivering a dish of cold reality your way.

I know. It's tough being a teenager. I was one, once. I made plenty of dumb mistakes and only had to make them in front of the 1,500 kids at my high school. I also have one at home, so I get the feeling of self-entitlement and all that fun stuff that comes with being entirely ensconced in the "me" years.

You're a talented kid, Justin. You've been smart enough to surround yourself with people who could take you from little kid on YouTube to global sensation. So apply some of those smarts to the rest of your life. Enjoy your tour and the rest of the summer. Get it all out of your system. Then maybe just go hang out somewhere quiet for a while. Hang out with your little brother and sister. Maybe go do some charity work in an impoverished nation where no-one knows who you are. Leave the "Lil's" behind. Oh, don't worry, they'll be fine. Professional hangers-on always find a new meal ticket. Life as you know it will still be here when you get back, and admit it: Wouldn't it be nice to see your name in the paper for something positive for a change?