The Very Worst of Everything That Ever Was. Ever.

One of my coworkers recently got The Very Best of Enya for Christmas from her Secret Santa.

She can’t wait to find out who her Secret Santa is. Neither can I. I am going to kill her Secret Santa when I find out who they are. No, seriously, I am going to straight-up murder this woman’s ass. Because ever since my coworker got this CD, she has been playing it non-stop.

Sure, it’s at a low volume. Doesn’t matter. It’s Enya. Her whale-noise singing permeates every barrier known to man, including the crust of the earth. Wonder why we haven’t been attacked by mole people lately? Enya scares them away. (It’s the only good thing she’s ever done for humanity, though, personally, I’ll take the mole people any day.)

Enya is like being force-fed a sedative through your ass.

Enya is like falling asleep on top of an anthill.

Enya is like getting a bear hug from an actual bear.

Enya is pretty much the worst thing ever.

You all know how I love the Lord of the Rings and how I saw all the movies, like, a stupid number of times when they were in theaters? The first time I saw Fellowship of the Ring, I was sitting there all in love with this wonderful adaptation of a book that I’d been reading since I was a kid and trying to work out if it would be possible to kidnap Billy Boyd without sabotaging the other two films in the series, and then “May It Be” came on over the closing credits, and I just sort of sat there trying to figure out what I was listening to and why did that sound familiar and HOLY MOTHER OF PAIN, IT’S ENYA! NOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!

From that point on, when I saw the movie again, I stuck my fingers in my ears and fled from the theater at the end of the film.

I know Enya’s supposed to be like an auditory tranquilizer, but her voice has the opposite effect on me. Listening to Enya pisses me off. And if there is anything I don’t need here at work, it’s another reason to be pissed off.

And just because I have fun writing them, he are some more descriptions of what Enya is like:

Enya is like going to the Met to see a William Hung concert.

Enya is like eating a marshmallow covered in thumb tacks.

Enya is like a down pillow with a dead hamster in it.

Enya is like drinking Bailey’s Irish Cream out of the toilet.

Enya is like jumping on a king-size feather bed and getting decapitated by a ceiling fan.

Enya is like waking up to find a fluffy cat curled up on your chest and a fluffy skunk curled up on your face.

Enya is like taking a Caribbean vacation with a corpse.