30 Days: Day 25
Karaoke Contest! It happened a few short days after seeing the movie Duets again that a friend mentioned that some tiny bar somewhere had a karaoke contest with a grand prize of $300. Mya, my new karaoke buddy, decided she could use a little extra cash, so Tom and I piled in the car and met her there for some fun.
We rolled up to a house turned bar set in the middle of the country, but that still had a few neighbors. I mentioned that the bar looked frighteningly similar to the bar in The Accused, a film Tom hadn't seen. So as we sat in the car, opening the doors to go in, I described Jodie Foster's rape scene and it was just then that someone's chained up pitbull started barking and we both nearly peed our pants. We then decided it would be best to go inside before the dog broke loose to knaw on our faces.
So, the gay white guy, his mulatto buddy, and their fat black girlfriend join up at the smallest possible bar where everyone already seems to know each other. I was expecting a screeching record noise when we walked in, but we managed to not be chased out by flaming torches. They had pretty good beer for really good prices, although they must not have sold much since the bartender had no idea what a Modelo was, and in fact thought I was cursing at her. So, content with our bucket of 10 7oz Miller Lights we grabbed a book, signed up for the contest, and eventually formed the bulk of it's contestants.
In the end, Mya took the ladies (she was *awesome*) prize and entry into the next level of competition, by a slim one vote even though she sang the pants of everyone else and Tom was denied completely in favor of some dude that obviously frequented the bar more often and didn't sing songs by suspicious sexual deviants like George Michael.
Keep your fingers crossed for the finals this weekend!
We rolled up to a house turned bar set in the middle of the country, but that still had a few neighbors. I mentioned that the bar looked frighteningly similar to the bar in The Accused, a film Tom hadn't seen. So as we sat in the car, opening the doors to go in, I described Jodie Foster's rape scene and it was just then that someone's chained up pitbull started barking and we both nearly peed our pants. We then decided it would be best to go inside before the dog broke loose to knaw on our faces.
So, the gay white guy, his mulatto buddy, and their fat black girlfriend join up at the smallest possible bar where everyone already seems to know each other. I was expecting a screeching record noise when we walked in, but we managed to not be chased out by flaming torches. They had pretty good beer for really good prices, although they must not have sold much since the bartender had no idea what a Modelo was, and in fact thought I was cursing at her. So, content with our bucket of 10 7oz Miller Lights we grabbed a book, signed up for the contest, and eventually formed the bulk of it's contestants.
In the end, Mya took the ladies (she was *awesome*) prize and entry into the next level of competition, by a slim one vote even though she sang the pants of everyone else and Tom was denied completely in favor of some dude that obviously frequented the bar more often and didn't sing songs by suspicious sexual deviants like George Michael.
Keep your fingers crossed for the finals this weekend!
posted by CJ at 6:08 PM
2 Comments:
The beginning of this sounds similar to that time at the VFW, except none of us had the guts to sing that night.
I havnt been to karaoke in too long. The last time was in the sketchiest bar I have ever had the misfortune to set foot in in Leeds. It was a proper Irish bar, in that it was full of bullet headed guys with tattoos, local footie team photos, and a wrinkled old Irish landlady with a thicker accent than the customers forearms. I felt distincly like a big nancy boy. I quickly discerned that county music was the way to go, put down Johnny Cash and drank my half of guiness (oh, jesus, how did I escape alive?) very slowly till it came on. Sang. Then left. Quickly. Looking over my shoulder as I ran away up the street.
-e
I remember the evening of the tri-bis at the VFW! Loads of fun.
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