The Best Song Ever (Or “Why I Belong in the Freddie Mercury Moustache Club”)

Let’s cut to the shit: the best song ever, without debate, is Keri Hilson’s “Knock You Down.” If you want an idea of my taste in music, the best song of all time before this was Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face” and, before that, Mozart’s “Requiem” (what can I say, 2009 has been really good for music).

Why do I love the song? Well, it meets just about every one of my criteria for a fucktacular tune:
-production so sugary even the most hairless of circuit twinks would call it a li’l queeny.
-a video that starts with a nice shot of the chanteuse’s fart vault, which, in Keri Hilson’s case, is damn fierce. Nothing worse than a sister with no ass, but, good lord, there ain’t much better than one who’s packing.
-It has a great turn by Ne-Yo, who I’ve had the steaming undies for since he released “So Sick” and have slowly been souring on since. Glad he was able to resuscitate my mancrush.
-Much as I typically think Kanye West must die (ie he’s a man that’s both better looking and more successful than me and could screw any woman that I could ever get simply by sitting on their lap and farting), on this track I actually don’t hate his rhymes. Any time you can make a reference to the paragon of kid beaters, Joe Jackson, you are good in my book.

I’ve also noticed that the “urban” (read: black) stations in the DC market seem to have a running contest where, if one of them plays this song, the other has to sneak it into the playlist asap. So, I’ll be driving and singing along at the top of my lungs as WPGC “blazes this jam” (picture Michael Bolton in the beginning of Office Space) and, after it wraps up, I’ll flip to WKYS and, bam, I’m catching the song halfway through at worst. The irony is I’m the poster child for ADD, yet I could gleefully listen to this song 472 times in a row. Not only that, if anyone interrupts me while I’m listening, I come at them like an autistic toddler whose mommy just shut off the one episode of of “Dora the Explorer” that captivates them so thoroughly that they actually stop punching themselves in the genitals for five seconds. Nothing like having to explain to a girl decent enough to phone you that you answered the phone by calling her a C U Next Tuesday because she had the audacity to contact you in the middle of 74th track this month that Kanye opened his fishstick loving mouth on. What can I say: a man has to have priorities in life.