You can't have cable TV or elementary school children in the immediate vicinity and not know what KidzBop is, but just in case you live in some fairytale place where forest animals help you with housework and little men take you in without expecting anything more than a kiss on the head, I'll explain it to you. Imagine the worst hits of our generation (and a few from our parents'), take any funk and emotion that they might have out. Replace the original artists' voices with inoffensive stand-ins, and have children sing back-up vocals. Welcome to KidzBop.

The KidzBop oeuvre begins in 2001 with Kidz Bop. Albums release one per year, predictably, for the next two years. And then, something interesting happens. The virus mutates, and a veritable explosion of KidzBop music is produced until the present year.

KidzBop has been successfully marketed by blitzkrieging television, notably cable television. And you'll also see KidzBop titles in plenty at the local WalMart and other stores of that ilk. Even when pickens are slim, there are at least 10 KidzBop albums available. Know why? They suck, that's why.

Watchful parents with eardrums, like yours truly, have skillfully avoided exposure to the KidzBop virus using common techniques. Almost everything we watch is Tivoed, and it is generally easy to fast forward (usually with a horrified and panic-stricken look upon my face) past the 10-year-olds doing the Running Man across the screen.

But, like all lifeforms, KidzBop mutates to confound its enemies. And so I tell my story of woe, hoping that you, parents of Open Salon, may avoid the dangerous trap that my household has painfully succumbed to.

I was having the week from hell. Doctor's appointments, chronic car failures, and dance recitals. My calendar is scrawled over with circles and stars and exclamation points--I dare President Obama's calendar to go head-to-head with mine. The only way that we were going to get fed was the McDonald's drive through. So, I tell the kids we're having a Happy Meal, and bask in the happy cheering going on in the back seat. I join the throngs of other hungry, busy parents as we queue into the drive-through.

By the time I see the menu, I am boxed in. I consider driving over the curb to escape, but seriously, at least ten people I know would see me, and my husband would probably find out before I got home. I AM SCREWED. McDonald's is distributing KidzBop promotional CDs in their Happy Meals in lieu of a toy. At first I think maybe the kids will cry about not getting a toy, and I can just throw the CDs away when I get home. Ah, the pathetic fantasies of the desperate! The Big One is tearing off the plastic before the car gets in the driveway.

She starts the CD while I wring my hands in the bedroom. Her birthday is coming up. Will the spell be spent before she constructs her birthday list? "Oh mommy, I WANT TO HAVE THEM ALL!!!!"