Parenting 101 and Then Some

by Josie Mac

Desensitization has been creeping in for decades—literally since talk radio was invented. Long before TikTok loops and meme culture, we had fake laugh tracks, exaggerated sound effects, and slapstick chaos meant to tell us exactly when something was “funny.” Insert the crash of a plate falling off a shelf, landing on someone’s head, birds flying in circles, audience laughter… and cue public humiliation as entertainment.

Same circus.

Different soundtrack.

So I’ve decided that every time my kid says “bruh,” I’m responding with “dude.”

No emotion.

No explanation.

Just deadpan dude.

Because apparently, I can also speak the lingo.

And every time I hear that chaotic, nonsensical, dopamine-fried chant—

“sa sa sahurrr…”

I will now casually respond with:

“Shannanananananana nana igans.”

Yes. In the tune of Kiss the Girl from The Little Mermaid.

Full commitment. Zero shame.

Because if we’re going to live in nonsense—like we always have—

I’m contributing too.

And let’s talk about the irony for a second.

I come from a generation that was raised on animated animals bursting into song, household objects with feelings, crabs lecturing us about life, and entire emotional arcs communicated through musical numbers.

But sure.

I wouldn’t understand.

We literally grew up watching forks, fish, teapots, and enchanted furniture sing their feelings.

This is not new.

This is just remix culture with worse audio quality.

Every generation has had its thing.

Groovy.

Rad.

Peace.

Love.

Totally.

Hot.

And now we have bruh.

But let’s not pretend we were walking around speaking the King’s English.

Let’s not forget the way we described someone attractive by comparing them to menu items.

“Girl, did you see that double Whopper with cheese, add bacon and extra pickles?”

Because apparently, in our era, the highest compliment you could give a human being

was equating them to a fully loaded fast-food sandwich.

And we said it with conviction.

Like we were food critics.

Also—let’s not ignore that we communicated entire emotional states with nothing but:

“Whatever.”

And a dramatic door slam.

So no.

We do not get to clutch our pearls over “brain rot.”

We seasoned our slang too.

Yet here we are in 2026, with kids looking me dead in the eye saying:

“Bruh. This video gave me brain rot.”

Oh, I’m sorry—

gave you brain rot?

Sweetheart.

You watched a pixelated toilet scream nonsense over dubstep for 47 seconds on a loop.

You didn’t suffer neurological trauma.

You were bored and overstimulated.

We used to call that Tuesday.

What “brain rot” actually is isn’t damage.

It isn’t danger.

It’s too much meaningless input.

It’s sitting perfectly still, moving your thumbs back and forth, while the rest of your body refuses to participate in life.

Which—ironically—kids are very aware of.

They know it’s dumb.

They know it’s nonsense.

They call it brain rot because… yeah.

It is.

And honestly, that self-awareness is the only reason I haven’t unplugged the Wi-Fi.

So yes.

I will respond to “bruh” with “dude.”

I will answer “sa sa sahur” with “Shannanananananana nana igans.”

I will meet random nonsense with even louder nonsense.

Because if they’re going to rot their brains ironically,

I’m going to meet them at their level—

with seasoning.

Call it parenting.

Call it sarcasm.

Call it generational warfare.

But listen…

They’ll survive dude.