That "Fireflies" song needs to die in a fire. Now.

Until recently, I had never heard of Owl City. But hell, it sounds like a pretty cool place to chill: fine, feathered friends, sitting back, sipping fine beverages under the shade of tall pines. I wouldn't mind paying it a visit. "Stop and stay for a while," they'd tell me. And I'd oblige them. Of course - sign me up.

Only Owl City isn't a place. It's a shitty electro-pop band. More specifically, it's one guy: Adam Young. And Adam Young has cornered the market on pop glurge.

There's just no competing with this. I mean, LISTEN to it. We've got:

- Sparse, ringtone-esque synth lines accompanied by chiming bells
- Simple, dance-track-type bass and drum arrangement
- Oh-so-emotional piano and strings

Hearing the music alone, you'd think you were playing a video game from the 90's. Something on the Super Nintendo. Maybe even Donkey Kong Country. And that's perfectly fine - I loved that game. But Adam isn't done with us yet.

Wait for the vocals to come in. And...yeah. That's what you're about to listen to. Four minutes of this.

I'm sorry, but whatever "this" is, it's fucking terrible. Young sounds like an overweight man with a comb-over and 80's coke-bottle glasses singing sweetly to a classroom full of pre-pubescent children, his falsetto crooning making them blush in turn as he pauses to whisper in each and every little ear, bushy moustache tickling. His voice is high and clear with a perfection that only software can produce. And the lyrics. Good God, the lyrics:

Cause I'd get a thousand hugs
From ten thousand lightening bugs
As they tried to teach me how to dance.
A foxtrot above my head,
A sock-hop beneath my bed,
The disco ball is just hanging by a thread.

If you aren't actually listening to the song, maybe the lyrics don't sound all that creepy. Maybe you think I'm a little crazy. A tad picky, tearing into a song that doesn't seem worth the criticism. I mean, what's the harm? It's just a dumb pop song. Give the guy a break.

Listen to the song. Please.

The first time I heard Fireflies, I was carrying boxes of books from my living room to the garage in preparation for a move. As soon as the line about "a thousand hugs" came out of the radio, I had to swallow little vomit. Metaphorically, that is - I have a stronger stomach than that.

But the point is, this song is so sickeningly sweet that I actually swore out loud. To myself. With no one aroung to hear it. And then later on, I read in Rolling Stone that it was a breakaway hit, moving 200,000 downloads in a week. And I died a little inside.

Let's be clear: there's absolutely nothing wrong with the music of Fireflies. It's simple, clean, and suitably electronic-sounding. Sure, it sounds like video game music, but I like video game music. It's a little repetitive, but at least it's not Soulja Boy.

But I cannot for the life of me understand how anyone could sit down at a piano and write lyrics like these and think of them as moving. Or genuine. Or ANYTHING other than absolute tripe.

Back in the day, there was hard candy. And hard candy was good. But then, companies realized most of the kids were crunching the pieces up quickly, too impatient to wait. They started making squeeze candy in a tube. All the flavor, none of the work. And a whole lot of disgusting.

Adam Young is one step ahead of the game: he's taken sugar, loaded it into a shotgun, and is sitting in front of the candy store aiming it at anyone and everyone who passes by. A lingering glance at the writing on the glass, and you'll find yourself flat on your back and missing all your teeth.

I'd rather listen to Lady Gaga all day than sit through an entire play of Fireflies. Let that be a lesson to you: stay away. It's just not worth the pain.