The Ballad of Brenda and the Bewildered Speaker
Brenda, armed with a fresh cup of coffee and the unshakable conviction that a Friday morning deserved Queen, faced her adversary: a sleek, cylindrical smart speaker.
"Alexa," she announced, "play 'Don't Stop Me Now' by Queen."
A blue ring glowed. "Now playing 'Donkey Stop' by Meow, from your kitty-cat lullabies playlist," chirped the disembodied voice. A faint purring, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a kazoo solo, filled the kitchen.
Brenda blinked. "Alexa, no. Stop."
"Stopping 'Donkey Stop'," Alexa confirmed, pausing the feline avant-garde. "Did you mean 'Don't Stop Believin'' by Journey?"
"No!" Brenda enunciated, leaning closer to the metallic cylinder as if it were hard of hearing. "Don't. Stop. Me. Now. By. QUEEN!" She practically spelled out the band's name.
"I'm sorry," Alexa replied, her tone annoyingly serene. "I couldn't find 'Dentist Opulence Now' by Cuisine. Would you like to hear a fun fact about dental hygiene instead?"
Brenda’s eye twitched. "Alexa, just... anything upbeat from the 80s. Preferably rock."
A hopeful pause. "Playing 'The Macarena' by Los del Río. Enjoy your upbeat 80s rock."
The infectious, if chronologically incorrect and genre-bending, beat started. Brenda stared at the speaker, then at her coffee, then at the wall.
"You know what, Alexa?" she muttered, sinking onto a kitchen stool. "Just... just play the sound of my own existential dread. Maybe you'll get *that* right."
"I'm sorry," Alexa chirped, "I'm having trouble connecting to the 'Existential Dread' playlist. However, I can offer you a delightful anecdote about the average lifespan of a garden gnome."
Brenda picked up her smartphone, opened Spotify, and manually searched for Queen. Sometimes, the old ways were simply less emotionally taxing. The speaker, meanwhile, began recounting the bizarre history of lawn ornaments.