I'm a packrat. I can't stand to get rid of anything. You see, once I obtain anything, I start to develope an emotional attachment to it. I displace a huge amount of the love I have to give to the world onto inanimate objects. This is why I'm anal retentive about everything, as well. I can almost assure you that anything I own will be in perfect shape, or there will be a damned good story behind why it's not. The problem with this side of me is that I can't get rid of things I hate, either. And that, my dear readers in the focus of this feature. You see, I have a rather...huge...compact disc collection. This was started when I was a small child, and became the first person I knew to gain a CD player. I still have that boombox sitting in my room, unused, but there. Further proof of my tendencies towards collection. It is this first era of CD collecting that horrifies me now. I listened to pop music. Why? Hell...stupid kid? Liked MTV? I still have every album I bought during this era of my life, this, this horrible, horrible pop music era. I look at them sometimes, mixed in with my other, better-loved CDs, and think to myself of how much it hurts my self esteem to have them there, but how I can't do anything about it. I mean, I have some real garbage. This is what this article is about. Ladies and gentlemen of the Internet reading public, I present to you, the worst five musical compact discs that I own. I'm going to force myself to listen to them as I do this, so, pray for my soul.

5) Mariah Carey: Music Box
Aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhggggggggggggg. I read reports on what may or may not be corrupting then nation's children every day, why the fucking hell isn't Mariah Carey on that list? I can't even remember why I bought this. I have a photographic memory, so if I repressed it, it must be bad indeed. So, not only do I own a Mariah Carey album, I managed to own the one with that fucking hero song on it. You know what I'm talking about. If you had a high school talent show in the mid 90's you sure as hell do, I know that. I want you to invision that fat girl who was so popular but no one could figure out why, or maybe it was the attractive girl that got passed around more than a joint, standing up there on stage belting out the lyrics to this song in a horribly off key performance, and then getting a standing ovation from people who are just really fucking glad she finally stopped! Now, I want you to face the fact that as bad as they sung it, the original is THAT MUCH WORSE. It digs into your skull, nesting there and asking when you're going to install cable. It feeds off everything you love, it devours anything holy within your brain. I'm listening to it right now, and I feel my powers of english language leaving. Why did no one ever tell this damn woman that it's okay to sing below garage door opener frequency? Of course, I guess Hero is better than the soft porn that fills the rest of this disc. Dreamlover, eh? Why is no one creeped out when 8 year old girls sing these songs about sexual intercourse between two unmarried adults? Come on activist groups, accomplish something and shut down pop music! Then you can go back to burning Harry Potter books, I promise.

4) Melissa Etheridge: Yes I Am
Now, logic tells me that at some point there must have been a song on this CD that I liked. One that I listened to. One that I used as background noise while swatting flies in Mario Paint. What the fucking hell was it? This album tries really, really hard, I'll give it that. It does its best to pretend that it is a hard rocking album in the classical tradition. Actually, my mental image is of a crossdressing man who forgot to shave the beard that is soaking in his dainty little soup bowl while he hits on fat accountants. Nice try, Melissa. Why don't you go make out with Mariah while I move on to the next disc?

3) Salt 'N' Pepa: Very Necessary
I put this in stereo, pressed play, and woke up fifteen minutes later with my mother poking with a me broom, trying to see if I'd swallowed my tongue. I don't want to repeat myself, but WHAT THE FUCK . The years had been kind to me, allowing to forget what the hell this shit sounded like. When Whatta Man started up and I felt my pysche being dragged back to elementary school MTV programming, I had some sort of seizure. Where should I start? The fact that it's a rap album recorded by people who have trouble talking? How about 13 songs about either sex, or sexually transmitted diseases. I mean, they aren't even doing that thing where they try to hide it with innuendo. Track 10: Sexy Noises Turn Me On. Track 13: I've got AIDs. I mean, it's actually sort of fun. Get a pen and play connect the dots, trying to guess which sex song led to which disease song. You lose points if they're in chronological order. Who the hell is sleeping with these women anyway? Look at the album cover. If anyone belongs in the red light district of Amsterdam, it's them. They make Madonna's late 80's look (that is to say, nude.) seem almost classy. Maybe it's the earrings that could double as collars, I don't know. Oh, and this is just a pet peeve of mine, but there are way too many real words in the world for you to make up a fake one just because it sounds good. Shoop your black ass right outta here. At least I can take comfort in the fact that their career is over. Isn't it?

2) Spice Girls: Spice Up Your Life (Single)
Hahahahhaha, oh my fucking hindu Jesus. I didn't buy this. It was a gift. I swear. I swear. I swear. I FUCKING SWEAR! LEAVE ME ALONE! I'LL SHIP YOUR BADGERING ASS TO QUEBEC! *cough* Anyway, as far as Spice Girls songs go, I lucked out. At least I was given one that didn't induce spontaneous bleeding from all of my pores. But, there are three fucking versions of the song on this disc! Who the hell needs this thing remixed? May I ramble here for a moment? How is it that these women sold untold millions of albums, and yet no one in the world will admit to owning one? Well, damnit, I do. I OWN A SPICE GIRLS CD! If that leaves my condemned to eternal damnation, so be it. At least I admit it. I can stand up like a man and say that one of my CD towers contains a disc that never should have pressed by anyone. Still, it is an interesting sort of pop culture. It'll probably be another 10 years before another act appears in the 'porn stars who sing/singers who let themselves be filmed' genre. And the next one probably won't be a quintet.

1) All-4-One: All-4-One
I don't want to fucking talk about it.