M - A - M - A - B - O - Y the artist sang, each letter like nails on a chalkboard. Mama's Boy, Mama's boy. they sang. You hated that song with a passion. It rubbed you the wrong way every time you heard it.

"Can you turn that off?" You snap at snap, venom dripping from your tongue.

"Whoa, maus! What's wrong with the song?" König asks, concern in his thickly accented voice.