No quibbles with your list this time, except for a bit of recurrent PTSD I'll have in the wee hours of the night when I lay awake remembering how suck-ass-fucking-horrible all these songs were and are.

The bad thing about the internet is that the master tapes of these abominations cannot be chopped up and buried in a shallow bayou grave in a state park just north of I-10 at the border between Texas into Lousiana.