Shitty pop songs are like simple carbs.  You know they’re not good for you, but when you get in the habit of consuming them on a regular basis, it’s kinda hard to stop.  They’re a mindless burst of pleasure, a shot of energy to your bloodstream that often doesn’t even last the duration of the jam. Sometimes you’ve had so much that you’re no longer even enjoying them as they enter your system, but you still can’t stop shoving them in an uncontrollable manner into your mouth and ears. 

 Jason Derulo, really?  Are they STILL playing this terrible song?, you wonder, as your hand, guided by some force outside of your conscious control, reaches toward the volume like it’s the bowl of chips on the coffee table. 

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