I’m not the sort to run towards the Internet’s more awful offerings. If someone precedes a link with, “This is so bad! You have to watch it!”, I will ignore said link no matter how many times it gets pushed in my face.
As such, I’ve never sat through Rebecca Black’s “Friday”. I’ve avoided every parody of “Call Me Maybe” even if the song itself is ubiquitous. And I am proud to proclaim that I am not one of the billion or so hits for Psy’s “Gangnam Style”. In fact, I’ve only heard the song all the way through once and against my will at a recent work event. I’ll spare you those details as I hope to forget them soon.
However, by some shocking coincidence, just days after the “work incident” my son began walking around my house jamming to his own rendering of the chorus. Out of nowhere, I hear my five-year old proclaim:
“Whoop’em Gangnam Style!”
The only thing funnier and unexpected was my two-year old daughter’s distraught response:
“No! No, Grandma Style!”