Sometimes Katy Perry feels like a plastic bag. You know? It's probably because she's made of plastic and is literally a bag. A skin-bag. A woman-shaped skin-bag made of plastic skin! Sometimes, God uses her to pick up dog turds in heaven, and then the turds come out of Katy Perry in the form of songs on earth. Like this one! It's called "Firework." It's mostly about how Katy Perry feels like a plastic bag, except for other times when she is exploding "even brighter than the moon," even though the moon isn't really that bright. Katy Perry doesn't know very many things about the moon, I guess. Probably because plastic bags don't have brains or knowledge.
This is a love song that Enrique Iglesias wrote to the silver basin of water, still and reflective as a looking glass, in which he combs his mole every morning (or he used to—RIP, mole). Enrique greets the dawn with the affirmation "You're so damn pretty/If I had a type, then, baby, it'd be you," and then he makes a mental note to be sure and masturbate himself tonight as a reward for being so much more beautiful than other people. Enrique has been to every nation, and please excuse him as he does not mean to be rude, but can he use your bathroom? He caught his reflection in a spoon and he just really, really needs to go masturbate right now. Enrique was too busy masturbating to record this song that he wrote, so he hired a robot to do it. At the end of the song, Enrique jumps into a volcano because someone (the robot) tells him there's a mirror down there. Then the robot goes on to sweep the Grammys, after which he blows up Washington, DC (oops, evil robot). Oh well. At least Enrique and his mole are reunited in heaven.
Oh cool, Katy Perry again! In this story, Katy Perry plays a plastic bag who wants to fuck an alien so she can get pregnant and give birth to a worm (plus get mega spacebucks in child support!). Then Kanye West shows up and he's like, "They callin' me a alien/A bigheaded astronaut," and it gets awkward because you realize that Katy Perry just can't tell the difference between aliens and black people. The thing I like best about Katy Perry's music is her humongous jugs.
Excuse me, what is a "Ke$ha" and why is it famous? Because if my reading of this song is correct, a "Ke$ha" is a charismatic cult leader/suicide bomber who is going to come to your child's birthday party, cut the power, distribute cyanide-laden fruit punch, pull your pants down, pee on you, throw broken glass in your eyes, and then BLOW EVERYONE UP TO DEATH. Is that really the future you want for your children!?!?? What is a "Ke$ha" and why is it your ringtone and HAS ANYONE CALLED HOMELAND SECURITY BECAUSE IF YOU SEE SOMETHING SAY SOMETHING!?!?
Dude, Bruno Mars should date Ke$ha. He loves blowing up, he can't get enough fruit punch (I'm just guessing, because who can?), plus he really wants a lady to have a look at his underpants. In this song, Bruno Mars won't stop crying because he can't find a girl who's as into murder-suicide as he is. He just wants someone with a vagina to toss a grenade at him, push him in front of a train, shoot him in the head, set his body on fire, and "throw [his] hand on a blade," and then let him do the same back to her, and then they can go have sex in heaven while Enrique Iglesias masturbates. Is that so much to ask? IS IT???
In this hilarious new novelty hit (reminiscent of "Weird" Albert Yankovic), an old lady teams up with an actual rapping pit bull to tell the story—in song!—of the time she fell "on the floor" and couldn't get up, and then the pit bull ate her feet off! It's a real toe-tapper (ooooooops—sorry, Mrs. Lopez!).
This song is more boring than a snail dreaming about cotton balls. I remember so little about listening to it that it actually sucked out some of my own memories, too. Where was I born? What does my mother's face look like? What was my first word? Pink stole all of that from me, and I will never forgive her.
"Na na na na/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it (Na na na)/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/S-S-S and M-M-M/ S-S-S and M-M-M/Na na na na/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it (Na na na)/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/ S-S-S and M-M-M/S-S-S and M-M-M/Na na na na/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it (Na na na)/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/S-S-S and M-M-M/S-S-S and M-M-M/Na na na na/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it (Na na na)/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/Come on, come on, come on/I like it, like it/S-S-S and M-M-M/ S-S-S and M-M-M..." (Repeat until you feel the grim reaper's cold breath on your neck, then weep with joy as oblivion envelops you.)
Based on this list so far, I'm pretty sure modern children don't even know what the human voice sounds like. But HOLY FUCK MY ASS LOOK AT THIS. An actual song! An actually good song! An actual song with an actual musician who actually wrote the song he's actually singing about actual feelings! This song is so good compared to all the other songs on this list that I resent it being here. Because you people—you terrible, terrible people—do not deserve Cee Lo. You only deserve to be elected president of the garbage, and then I hope that robot from earlier blows up your garbage White House just when you're about to deliver the State of the Garbage address. I hate you guys. Come on, Cee Lo, let's get out of here and go French.
Oh look, that robot's back! Listen. I don't care how many times you say it on every chorus (literally 999 times)—you weren't born this way, singing robot. You were created in an undersea laboratory by a guy with an eye patch (Richard Branson, I know it was you!). But anyway, congratulations on having 9 out of the Billboard Top 10 hits, robot! Just please let that be enough. Please don't murder Cee Lo. He's all we have.