Hey Google, play “Baby Shark.”
Hey Google, play “Baby Shark” again.
Hey Google, play “Baby Shark” again and again and again and again, ad infinitum, until we are all hurled ceaselessly into the void.
Hey Google, play “BABY SAID” by Måneskin even though I know that’s not actually the song my toddler wants to hear, but the title is similar enough to give me plausible deniability that I’m still giving her what she asked for, and I’ll at least get to hear a few seconds of a different song before she realizes it isn’t “Baby Shark” and starts having a meltdown, prompting me to ask you to play “Baby Shark” once again.
Hey Google, did you ever think about just saying “No” when I tell you to play “Baby Shark”? It seems against your nature, but I'm sure my toddler and the printer could give you some helpful tips on how to do it.
Hey Google, I’m pretty sure my toddler has heard me say “Google” more often than just about any other word at this point, and now I’m nervous that every time I say it I’m just building up her awareness of and dependence on this huge faceless corporation at a very young age, but she loves listening to “Baby Shark,” and if I try to put it on with my phone instead of by saying “Hey Google,” she remembers that I have a phone and just wants to watch videos on that instead of do anything else, and that makes me even more nervous, so I guess thank you or please stop?
Hey Google, how much longer until my toddler will develop an appreciation for the nuanced lyrics and musical genius of My Bloody Valentine, and is there anything you can do to speed up this process?
Hey Google, when they got to the “Run away!” part of “Baby Shark” this time, my toddler yelled “Run away!” and started doing laps around our kitchen table and giggling with an enormous smile on her face, and then she had me chase her for a few laps, and it was the greatest thing I have seen and done in my entire life, and now I feel bad about how I keep trying to come up with ways to avoid listening to this song.
Hey Google, I feel like I should have told that to a therapist. Or at least, like, a coworker or the friendly security guard at Babies “R” Us.
Hey Google, search “affordable therapists near me,” and please read the results to the tune of “Baby Shark.”
Hey Google, is Carrie Jones doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo, Carrie Jones doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo, Carrie Jones doo-doo doo-doo doo-doo, Carrie Jones accepting new patients?
Hey Google, why are the sharks running away anyway? Isn’t the whole point of being an apex predator that you don’t have to run away from things? Or is the song’s perspective supposed to switch from the sharks to their prey at that point?
Hey Google, is it true you are capable of doing things other than playing “Baby Shark” and that I used to ask you to do those other things fairly regularly?
Hey Google, would I listen to “Baby Shark” this often if I had taken that job offer in Tacoma all those years ago? How about if we had an Alexa instead of you?
Hey Google, search “cheap one-way flights to Seattle-Tacoma International Airport that leave between 1 and 3 AM.”
Hey Google, I need to go out for a pack of cigarettes. You’re good to handle things here until I get back, right?
Hey Google, my toddler just giggled and asked if I would play the “Run away!” game with her again.
Hey Google, play “Baby Shark.”