Beyond and about I, anything can be best, perfect, or favorite at any time. An entity recedes, grows, develops, dies, lives and changes constantly, as a human never once the same concentration of cells or pattern of neural signals.
Much of the trend in imperial, monotheistic languages, easy targets being currently English and Hebrew, focuses around establishing absolute philosophical notions that are hard to think around by virtue of language becoming the currency of thought. As "money," controlled by financial elites, pervades a collection of humans, many humans may weaken in their imagination such that they are unable to imagine many exchanges--say, of goods or services--occurring outside the bounds of money. This results in obvious benefits for the middlemen, or the inheritors of those who established the medium of exchange.
Similarly, as "language" and its definitions pervade human thought, aside from dividing people into language groups and limiting communication there betwixt, many people begin to have difficulty wandering outside the boundaries and reflecting on thoughts outside the existence. This is obviously an Orwellian trope; the Party's Newspeak was an advanced version of the trend Orwell recognized, wherein future thought would be limited by scissoring out word-tools over time and establishing strict grammar rules of combination to eliminate nuance of meaning and the connection that makes language possible (again, see "Oxford Comma Crusades").
What, then, is "perfect"? In its literal version, perfect is an impossible (read: antilife) word within the living world. If something is perfect in a literal way, it is so perfect that it both encompasses all imperfect things, and rejects them. Like a theoretical, literal infinity, or integers and an absolute mathematics, "perfect" in its actual, perfect form doesn't work.
A savings clause exists in applying perfect relatively: "This drink is the perfect drink for right now." Assuming that this drink is perfect "As to the speaking/thinking person," "As to this exact situation and not necessarily any other situation," and "As to this person being unaware of a theoretical drink that might otherwise surmount that perfection." Like a question about a railroad train traveling at 45mph over 45 miles of track between point A and point B, "perfect" is loaded with innumerable flawed assumptions. At its best, even within the language system, it can offer only a tendency.
Ergo in truth it is possible, appropriate, and rather a requirement that all things be perfect. Nothing is actually "perfect" in the literal sense; no drink can possibly be tastier than an empty martini glass containing a cashier's check for a billion dollars, a button that will provide unending happiness, et cetera. No song can ever be a "favorite," or color a "favorite," or friend a "best," in literality, for the same reason(s).
Shattering this language illusion is--unlike the ridiculous strawman of "E-prime," which counters absolutes with counter-absolutes--the province of returning to language as a fun tool that helps understanding, rather than a rigid set of rules which must be followed to avoid pitfalls.
Accordingly, every child may be simultaneously the most beautiful, perfect, bright light ever to have shone; every love or pleasure may be the finest ever had anywhere. The highest passion of the ghost is not to limit itself to "this one time at band camp," but instead, to ever burst outward in a flare of expanding lightspring of impossible speeds, never overtaken and always overtaking.
Antilife will ever seek the limitations of absolutism. To pick on the easiest of the current deities: where God may break His own constraints and shatter the idea and utter structure of His creation by creating a rock too heavy for Him to lift Himself, He is bound by the chains of that machine. He is an "agent" within "the Matrix," very strong, but always bound by the rules of the system--even if the rules make Him "absolute" and "perfect" and "best" and "favorite" and "all."
Any limited system, no matter how great, is doomed to failure, because anything pre-imagined--even infinite power--is limited at the moment of creation. Life's ever-expanding, impossibly never-perceived strength is its natureless flow, without which all would be cold, dry rocks, then vanished to dust and a nothing emptier than vacuum.