The. Worst. Song. Ever. Period.

On Easter Day my peeps (non-marshmallow) and I were sitting around talking about whatever, and I casually threw out the fact that I personally consider “Afternoon Delight” the worst song ever written. This is because of the monotonous beat and execrable equal temperament major key-ness of the tune, not the subject matter. I am not in any way opposed to the idea of getting a little sumpin sumpin during daylight hours. The imagery is cheesy as well: “Skyrockets in flight”? I was thinking that if you are going to invoke explosives in your song, you should at least have the decency to sound like Pantera. So then I was imagining a Pantera song on this theme:

Nuclear mushroom cloud!
I’ll annihilate you!
So come on over b*tch!
Your doom is at two!
(Smokin’ Dimebag Darrell solo. RIP Dimebag!)

Or how about an Usher take on this theme:

(Whispering) Come over here.
(Crooning) Ooh girl I want
To ignite with you,
We’ll start out at two,
Take off all your clothes,
You’ll incinerate till four,
From your head to your toes
And then we’ll do it some more.

But other people were saying no, the worst song ever is the “Friday” song. I was unfamiliar with the “Friday” song, so they found it on YouTube. It does have one advantage over “Afternoon Delight,” in that it cannot get stuck in your head because it does not actually have a tune. It features lines of such scintillating intelligence as “Today is Friday, yesterday was Thursday, tomorrow is Saturday,” and “It’s Friday, Friday, Friday,” but the line that really got me was, “Friends in the front seat, friends in the back seat, I have to decide where to sit.” Really? This strikes me as the absolute nadir of American culture. How many girls her age are wondering where they will find their next meal or how they will care for their younger siblings now that Mom and Dad have died from AIDS/at the hands of the rebels/under mysterious circumstances in prison because of their political views? Or even teenagers in this country who have their basic needs met but spend Friday nights wondering which version of Solitaire to play – how are they supposed to feel watching some hot teen and her hot teen friends (so one has braces, she still looks like a model) debate about what seat to take in the convertible as they drive from party to party? No wonder the teen suicide rate is so high.

Famous Hat