So the other night I went to this KARAOKE HELL 2009 thing (yes, it must be in all-caps) at this really bizarre restaurant type place with a bathroom that smelled so strongly of bleach that my nose hairs will probably never grow back.
The night started off kind of smoothly. I mean, yes, I spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom totally failing at helping some chick out of a dress that hated her so much that I had to call in a dude to help us out. I pretty much became completely useless because to be honest, there were boobs, bleach fumes, and I knew they wouldn’t deliver my Saki to the bathroom. I don’t know. There could’ve been a three-way going on. But again, no Saki in the bathroom. I think the restaurant is totally missing out on a great marketing opportunity.
Then came the amazing singing styles of people who I don’t really know that well but who continually rubbed my face in the fact that they don’t have crippling stage fright like I do. Thanks, you fun loving jerks with voices that rivaled Julie Andrews and caused me to bootleg your performances and sell copies on the internet. I only feel slightly bad.
I spent a large portion of my night regaling my tablemates with stories of a girl I know with a lion tattooed snatch, only to be upstaged by a friend who told everyone about a girl who doesn’t like lions so she got a tattoo of two boxing gloves accompanied by, “Hit it Like a Champ.”
And to top off the evening, Lady GaGa showed up and sang karaoke with us. Just as you suspect, she did a terrible job, dressed like a tramp, and everyone left with a new STD.
The night was pretty freakin’ magical, you guys.
Photo credit: a dude.
