Everyone knows I’m obsessed with “Obsessed.”
Well, guess what? “Obsessed” is no longer a single. You could read about it here, or allow me to play the publicist and flesh it out in layman’s terms. Here’s how I imagine it went down:
Reporter: “So that first single, “Obsessed”–”
Publicist: “What? Oh, haha…THAT? No, no…that was just what we in the industry call a ‘buzz single.’ Yeah! Just something to please the fans and get some attention her way, you know? No, the FIRST single, the real one…that’s going to be like a, like a real big Mariah ballad. Like, um…think “Vision of Love.” Or anything before Glitter. Fuck, wait! Did I just–don’t you have somewhere else to be?”
I, for one, am outraged. Just because Mimi Carey was finally allowed a few extra feet on her freak leash to sing a few bars about lyin’ and sexin’ (all the way to Number 11 on the Hot 100, mind you!), her brand-new-but-actually-old PR team is scrubbing her down in an attempt to de-sluttify “The Voice.” Just watch: Next, they’ll be adding fabric at the end of her mini-dresses!
“Obsessed” was a gay old time, even if half the blogosphere would rather stick their fingers in their ears, rock back and forth, and hum “Heartbreaker” over and over until the memories outweigh the awful, terrible truth: Mariah Carey LOVES herself some autotuned trash-pop. So go ahead: Turn a blind eye to it all. Hell, wash the charts in Windex for all I care–’tis the blood of George Foreman that will forever stain your hands.
And no, I won’t stop. I WON’T STOP UNTIL, LIKE THE GREAT NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, THE STREETS SHALL RUN WITH THE BLOOD OF OBSESSERS/NON-FRENCHMEN EVERYWHERE.
Viva la “Obsessed” revolution!