The Last Rescue: Part 1

I sometimes take my son to an indoor playscape. There's really nothing for me to do aside from listen to the music, which for reasons I will probably never understand is Top 40. Uncensored, sometimes more explicit than the radio cut, Top 40. It's almost a ritual now that I have to go up to the college kids running the place and point out that songs that belt out "H##l" "A@@" and even sometimes "F&#*K" are really not appropriate for a children's space, no matter how cute Andy Grammar's song about staying faithful to his girl may seem. Then there's the secondary problem of all the songs that may not use cuss words, but are saying explicit enough things that I really don't want my two year old listening to them. I don't mind having to explain what "twerking" means, but if it becomes a question of why is Pit Bull making these girls dance in their underwear...well that's a whole different story and I'm pretty sure even little boys can figure out what Bruno Mars means when he refers to the pretty girls waking up his "rocket", which isn't as bad as the next line when he then is badgering some lady for scowling in his presence and saying people should put money in his pocket, because he's a "dangerous man". I get that the employees probably don't want to listen to endless children's music, neither do I, but they could play Golden Oldies from a time when decency laws were strict and songs were much more about having your reputation besmirched for falling asleep together in a movie theatre rather than the loveless screwing of most of today's hits.