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Avril Lavigne

Hate your life? Then treat yourself to an Avril Lavigne concert. They seem wonderful. In fact, it might just give you the motivation you need to kill yourself. The Washington Post reviewed Avril’s last concert and describes it as “all about her.”

But now 23 and married, she pulls off the act, if it is an act, with wondrous believability. During “I Don’t Have to Try,” she screamed, “It’s all about me!” and the girls in the grandstand screamed with her. “How many girls out there always get what they want?” she said before playing the garagey, Joan Jett-ish “I Always Get What I Want.”

Changing from a black outfit to a blacker outfit every several songs, she turned the narcissism knob up to 11 for “The Best Damn Thing.” She brought out a group of dancers dressed as cheerleaders and carrying large placards, and forced the troupe to lead the crowd in spelling out A-V-R-I-L and to yell her name.

If I was one of the cheerleaders, I would have done three back flips into a standing double flip in front of Avril and kicked her in the vagina. Alas, I’m neither that athletic nor that gay so you’d have to settle for me kicking Avril in the vagina without all that flash. If it makes you happy, I can sort of do a little shuffle with my feet while she’s keeled over in pain.

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