This week, I was burdened with the task of finding the worst album released in the last six months. I considered not even trying. You see, so many artists this year put in the effort, creativity, and consistency to deserve the award.

Suffice it to say, there may be thousands of musicians who deserve to be remembered — and in this case quickly forgotten — who I will be unable to recognize.

At first, I searched in obvious places for the “worst album.” I traveled through the interwebs, trying to fit into the mind of a cynical hormone-induced teen who “trolls” upon vulnerable musicians. And with the advice of anonymous sources, many of whom fit into this description, I narrowed my sights down to a few artists.

The first artist I considered for the award was Lana Del Ray. Based on her robotic, somewhat horrifying performance on SNL two months ago, many of you would probably say that Born to Die deserved the title of “worst album.”  Well, I don’t know why you would assume that I care about your opinion. Sorry, but I’m a bit too hipster to arrive at the same conclusion.

Just because she looked like a statue bred by Tilda Swinton and a character from Avatar, in what Brian Williams called “one of the worst outings in SNL History,” doesn’t mean her album was so awful. Maybe awful is the wrong word. Her album wasn’t a human catastrophe. She has a formidable singing voice, and certain songs on the record, like jazzy single “Video Games,” actually may be worth listening to. Her music is no more devoid of melody or meaning than a Grammy nominated Britney Spears song, per se.

Another album which has been endlessly disparaged in YouTube comments and interactive blogs like reddit.com is Nickleback’s Here and Now. As much as I originally wanted to condemn their work, I cannot hide my inner feelings any longer.  I’m sorry for disappointing you Mom and Dad, but there have admittedly been at least multiple occasions where I found myself sentimentally humming to songs on the record.

I am who I am (I get all cliché even thinking about them). If played at full volume, continuously, songs like “When we Stand Together” should conceivably be repetitive and sappy enough to use as an effective substitute for water-boarding. But in moderation, these same songs can be catchy. Those who enjoy alternative anthem-like melodies, and totally ignore lyricism, could have a new favorite record.

As you can imagine, I was physically and emotionally exhausted by this point in my search. I had been looking for nearly ten minutes, and still hadn’t found the worst album of the last six months. But then I heard this deathly ringtone emanating from a freshman’s cell phone.

Initially, I couldn’t pinpoint what musician was causing my post traumatic stress.  And then it hit me. Soulja Boy was back… and still  “crank[ing] that Soulja Boy.” In this moment, I knew I had found gold (or in this case excrement).

I ran to the nearest computer to see if I was correct. As expected, I was. Soulja Boy had released an album in October entitled “Skate Boy.” After giving the computer back to the random wide-eyed girl I’d taken it from, I returned home and made myself listen to every track on the record.

And once again Soulja Boy astounded me with his ability to deftly produce music without substantial meaning, rhythm, or melody. He has the full package. To start, the majority of his tunes, such as “Street Sweeper” and “Ocean Gang Remix” sound like they were produced by a three year old arbitrarily hitting a synthesizer.

Furthermore, he has no flow to speak of (for those who don’t know, “flow” describes a rapper’s rhyming, not urinating, capabilities). It would not be far-fetched to assume that he replaced Lil Wayne’s cough syrup with sleeping pills before slurring his jumbled raps.

But what bothered me the most was his choice of subjects. Nearly every song is about how he possesses more money than the rest of us, and his lyrics are shallower than the kiddy pool I swam in until age ten (don’t judge me).

Not to mention that the lyrics aren’t even accurate. TMZ reported in June that the rapper lied for publicity, saying he bought himself a $55 million dollar jet. Four months later, the news organization alleged that he had been presented with an eviction notice by the landlord of his Atlanta apartment.

In fact, someone should set him up with Jessica Simpson; as untalented one hit wonders, they have a lot in common. If the two married, they could compile their dwindling assets. Soulja Boy still wouldn’t be able to afford that jet, but I’ve heard great things about the Prius…