“The Door is A Jar”; Or Appliances Usually Don’t Know What They’re Talking About

I’m not sure if my dad is messing with me or not.
It is probably safest to assume that he is.
“So I woke up, what? 2:00, 2:30 in the morning, and I hear a voice I don’t recognize coming from the kitchen.”
I take a drink of my beer, keep a wary eye on his face.
“And I’m thinking to myself, holy cow!  There’s someone in the house!  What do I do?  Should I wake your mother?  Where’s that baseball bat?  Do I have time to go to the bathroom first?”
I snort appreciatively.  My father taps the side of his nose, nods. 
“So I go into the kitchen,” he continues, raising his eyebrows significantly, “and there’s Mumma’s phone on the table.  It’s all lit up, and as I reach for it, the phone says to me, Please say a command.
“Well, I damn-near fell over.  Please say a command, the lousy thing says.”  He shakes his head in disbelief, takes a sip of beer.  ”Pfft.”  
“So what’d you do?”
“What could I do?” he says.  “It wants a command, I’ll give it a command!  I tell it:  Shut up!”
I laugh.  “Your command is shut up?”
He nods, takes another drink.  “But does that satisfy it?  No.  Please say a command, it says again!  Another command from the phone!  So I tell it OK, shut up and drop dead.”
I can’t help myself.  I laugh again.  “Did that work?”
“Nah,” he says, rising with his empty beer can, “but I was done with it.  A phone that wakes me up, makes demands?” 
“So what’d you do?”
He shrugs, drops the can in the recycling, pulls another beer from the fridge.  “What could I do?”  He pops open the can, takes a drink.  “I stuffed it into the kitchen towel drawer.  I figured your mother could have a talk with it in the morning.”