Talking Carl

This weekend I spent some quality time with my family — I mean iPhone.

I downloaded some more apps. One just for the kids is Talking Carl.

"If you've got children or just visit any regularly, Talking Carl is likely to become your new best friend. Tickle, poke or squeeze him on the touchscreen and he'll respond; talk to him and he'll squawk your words back at you. Endless, entirely innocent, entertainment ensues," it said in The Guardian.

"Good," I thought. This is what happened:

Me: Hello.
Talking Carl: Hello.
Kids: laughter
Talking Carl: laughter
Son: Who the fuck are you?
Talking Carl: Who the fuck are you?
Daughter: laughter
Son: cautious laughter and a sideways glance at me

(I know why he's trying this out. I had just let him watch Eddie Izzard's "Death Star Canteen" on YouTube. Although I don't show it, I'm actually quite impressed that my son's been able to reproduce such a complicated structure: this is not intermediate swearing; this is advanced swearing.)

Me: You're not allowed to say that until you're 18, remember?
Talking Carl: You're not allowed to say that until you're 18, remember?
Laughter
Daughter: You have a poo on your head and wee in your pants!
Talking Carl: You have a poo on your head and wee in your pants!
Hilarious laughter
Son: You poopy pants!
Talking Carl: You poopy pants!

So far, so not sophisticated! But at least they were practising English, I suppose.

I decide to switch Talking Carl off (probably one of my better decisions that day) and promise they can "play" with him another day. I quietly wonder whether most kids would begin by verbally abusing such a cute little monster only to have the abuse squawked back at them, or whether only mine would.

So much for the "endless, entirely innocent entertainment"!