
Better still - the invitation specifies "No gifts", so you don't even have to buy him a toy! After all, what do you get the boy who has everything - even his own super-sci-fi robot butler, probably!?
You don your best party smock, slip on your dancin' shoes, brush your hairs, do three farts against a perspex sheet, and apply some theatrical glitter to your thorax. You want to ensure you look your absolute best for Justin!
Quickly now - you don't want to be late, for what is sure to be the party of the century!
"Robo-hello," fizzes the robot. "I am Mr Sweet Biscuits, Master Justin's personal robo-assistant and butler."
"Ok," you say.
"Please come inside," continues Mr Sweet Biscuits, as it topples against the door frame, and attempts to reattach its arm. "Master Bieber is expecting you."
You can't help but be awed by the amazing collection of Justin Bieber memorabilia.
"I'll come and check on you later," barks Sweet Biscuits. "Do be certain to have fun."
"Hi," says Justin Bieber, beckoning you with his hand, as he materialises out of thin air, with a funny shimmering noise. "Welcome to my birthday party. Why don't you come a little closer so that I can see my party guest properly?"
"Yes," you reply.
"Too bad," he cackles. "It was so delicious that I ate it before you got here."
"This is all that's left," he sighs, pulling out a few crumbs of cake. He extends it towards you, snapping abrasively: "Now eat it!"
Reluctantly, you do as you are ordered, eating the crumb of cake from Bieber's sweetly-scented hand.
"You bet I do!" squeals Bieber, as he grabs Sweet Biscuits by the head. "I'm gonna play some games... WITH YOU!"
Justin Bieber either doesn't hear, or chooses to ignore, Sweet Biscuits. Against the protestations of the butler's robotic joints, Bieber forces him to perform a shameful dance that is both lewd and suggestive, and quite possibly illegal in most US states.
"I do like you," concurs Sweet Biscuits, "But not in the way that Master Justin is implying."
Justin Bieber looks at him, shocked, as if he can't believe what he's done.
"You saw what happened, right?" says Bieber, breathless. "He tried to kill me. Right? It was self-defence.
"No," you reply.
"Shut-up, man!" shouts Bieber. "You gotta help me hide the body. Now!"
"Ok," you say.
"JUSTIN HORATIO BIEBER!!" bellows a voice from behind you, making the both of you jump. "What are you doing? What happened to Mr Sweet Cheeks?"
"Nuh... nuh... nothing, d-d-d-dad," stammers Bieber. "I mean, er, he tried to kill me. I had to defend myself. That robot went plum loco!"
He turns to you for support. "Isn't that right, my party guest?"
"No," you reply.
"Awwww, dad," groans Justin.
"Don't you 'aw, dad' me," replies Bustin Jieber. "Give your friend a party bag, and see him out."
"Sorry, man" says Justin Bieber. "My dad's a real asshole. He hates it when I murder the staff and that."
"No," you reply.
The answer: 47lbs of raw prawns.