Mariah Carey's Lollipop Collection

Before Mariah was pooping out babies, prattling on about butterflies, and screeching in whistletone, she was jumping into pools with high heels on, answering questions in interviews with word-salad monologues about butterflies, and screeching in whistletone. 
The apex of her career happened shortly after she dumped Tommy Mottola -- who reportedly kept her in a giant birdcage with custom large-scale newspaper lining the bottom to collect her substantial and, in some circles, impressive Mariah-poops.  He would rap the side of the cage and bark at her to sing such hits as Vision of Gloves and Hero (Sandwich), while he'd throw meatballs and gravy at her heaving breasts.  He'd have carnival-themed parties and if one of his music industry lawyer friends' palsied hand happened to get one of those gravy covered "eggs" to land in her "bird nest," they'd take home a goldfish and sometimes one of her snapped g-strings.
She kicked his EYEtalian ass to the curb browkayy?! and started wiggling around in various stages of undress.  She did Diva's Live; her body: resplendent in its too tight babydoll cut, her chichis terrifyingly squeezed by a modern marvel of fashion architecture that girded her mammaries into jiggling damp joysacks, her horse-mane hair majestically shooting out of head in tufts of glory. HALELOO the crowd chanted as she bounced and shuffled and did a bit of singing.  Hallelu indeed.
Before or after, at sometime, she made the best album of her career at this time called "Butterfly."  It's really great except for that song that Missy Eliot crapped out for her. Like really? She saves "Oops (Oh My)" for Tweet?  Note to Mariah:  If you want the good songs, just let Missy Eliot fingerblast you on the mixing board like she axed.
Nowadays, Mariah is dressing in too small dresses with unintentionally hilarious consequences and airbrushing abs on.  She pooped out a kid and also had a baby.  She is firmly in the "Diva" tradition of modern pop where we gleefully watch as the artist tries to piggyback on whatever success is happening and keep momentum going by producing catchy, quality songs. But as a joke, we all collectively decide not to buy it just to see them get real sad for a while and make poor life decisions such as taking an Ambien and a Dulcalax before going on the Today Show, shuffling backwards in her too-high high heels going "boop boop, here comes the dump truck" and defecating through her support hose on Hoda Kotb's Chardonnay.
What is most offensive about MC's Lollipop Collection isnt the predictable budget fruity floral scent, but the absolute cheapness of the packaging.  It all comes across the same way a direct-to-DVD movie does -- its cheap, aims low, and out to catch a buck and then end up in a landfill.  There are apparently 6 different scents all based on her most popular and ubiquitous hit songs like "Vision of Love" and 5 others I've never heard of.

What does the juice smell like?  Let's do this buzzfeed style (all gifs stolen from http://mariahgifaday.tumblr.com/)

1.  You spray it on your wrist and you're all

2.  Notice the sillage of the cheap, generic fruity floral and remark

3. If you sprayed "Vision of Love" you noticed its harsh chemical "Freesia" note.  Its a scrubber and you be like

4. What's worse, the smell of Mariah Carey's Lollipop collection or

5.  The scents are depressing enough that you need a new hobby

Madame by Jean Paul Goultier vs. Tokyo by Paris Hilton

On my left wrist I have Madame by the squeezer-of-tits-into-cones fashion designer Jean Paul Goultier, on my right Tokyo from famous-piece-of-shit Paris Hilton. One must have an advanced nose to pick up on the subtleties of notes and structure that these classics of our modern times are imbued with, but one seems a little more appropriate for passing out in the yard with McDonalds fast food garbage strewn about, while the other is just slightly more tuned for chugging Kir Royales at a baby shower. On my left, the wafting fizziness would be the ideal companion for when you're in the mood to use grape vining as your only mode of conveyance for the day and on my right, the syrupy fruit cocktail would be the perfect addition to screeching into a cracked iPhone 3G with one flip flop missing after a Cubs game. While the lightness and luminosity of the left suggests a hastily delivered finger blast behind an Arby's over an overturned bucket of Horsey Sauce, the right's sensual yet tenacious sillage would be perfect for looking out the window sneering like Billy Idol and shaking your right tit vigorously at the garbage man. On my right, the sensual billow of cherry blossom and citrus is for doing what feels good, in this case grinding one out on a shopping cart going up the escalator at Target, meanwhile the left has the elegant billowing presence perfect for wearing a La Perla bra with one strap ripped off from a cock fight and then later pooping the bed.


Both class acts, and are priced to move.  (one of the labels is "favorites" and that goes to Madame: if you want a fun day drinkin' companion, she's a great go-to... Tokyo is just garbage)