On Karaoke night of our Lucille trip to the coast, the KJ (DJ for karaoke, duh), would selfishly sing his very ownself in between all of the patrons' (our) requests. It was ok until he made a stupid, fatal mistake. Fatal as in - he killed the party mood. Pretty sure that KJ was a local and just didn't get it. The coastal wildlife bears a bit of explanation to fully understand the caliber of citizens that we encounter when we're down there. In defense, it is entirely possible that there are other islanders who are NOT like this - but the establishments we tend to frequent and the sheer eccentricity of our collective personalities seems to draw an off-brand of human contact.
The Lucilles had sung some of our usual fare to entertain the meager crowd, which consisted mostly of us and a few weird old dudes who had followed us from the two previous bars that we had visited.
These gentlemen did not include Santa Claus, who used some BS about hamburger helper as his attempted pick-up line. A first for me. Lucky for him/unluckily for me, I was drunk enough to actually engage in a conversation with him about hamburger helper and all its virtues, and coming from my white trash background, I had quite an extensive amount of knowledge on the subject that resulted in the conversation lasting for a rather lengthy time that implied interest. Gawd help me.
However, who DID show up was the waiter that Felix had made an impression on at the restaurant where we ate the previous evening (how? I don't know cuz she was bi+chy and rude as h3ll to him over the availability of a particular brand of beer, but she smiled cattily the whole time, so I am pretty sure that he mistook the smiling for attraction.) He obviously had accrued too many dui's and/or didn't have a vehicle that ran and had followed us ON FOOT from bar to bar (he kept showing up much later than the other guys and by the time we got to karaoke we saw him and figured it out). MyPoolBoy came down for the weekend and we stayed an extra couple of days and we actually saw him with a WOMAN walking across the street from our hotel. Said woman had no teeth - not just bad dental hygiene habits with resulting gaps - NO TEETH as in, she must've left her dentures on the nightstand that morning - she was wearing no shoes - and she had her cut-off jeans unbuttoned AND unzipped. Hand to GAWD.
Also present and accounted for was Phil. Phil was there to sing, by golly. And meet women, if the opportunity presented itself. And he hadn't had enough to drink yet to steady his DT's, but that didn't keep him from erroneously thinking that our laughter was a sign of interest rather than the horribly inhumane, insensitive ridicule that it actually was. Phil used the karaoke arena as his personal concert venue and moved about the bar like he was Tom Jones at the Vegas MGM Grand. He walked up to Larva and put his hand on her shoulder as he sang to her. Larva had made the mistake of looking especially cute that night in a little strapless dress which meant Phil's hand was on her BARE shoulder. As soon as he walked away, she began screaming for someone to disinfect her. Which we did. Because for the first time in my life, I was in an establishment that had a huge pump dispenser of hand sanitizer right there on the bar.
Can. Not. Lie. About. Shi+. Like. That.
So. Karaoke evening had gone a little mild for my liking, and I elected to put in some songs in that would liven things up. Larva got up and sang "Because I Got High" with me, and then I got a couple of girls to do "Hit Me With Your Best Shot." This was followed by "PMS Blues." We had a theme of girl-power going. And that - THAT - is when the KJ made his fatal error.
He sang "Only Women Bleed" by Alice Cooper. All of you under-40 somethings need to heed the following lesson in pop culture: Alice Cooper is NOT a woman. It was a guy and his band from the 70s who did some really good songs like "School's Out" which is a timeless classic, but also did some freaky shi+ like "Only Women Bleed." Of course, it has to have been written and sung by a man because it stretches a testosterone-laden mind to have to get a meaningful or deep lyric into a song. Basically, it goes
like this:
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah but only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
only women bleed
Sure. Let's sing this to a crowd of crowd of women who outnumber all the men in the bar and who have just been selecting such numbers as "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" and "PMS Blues." Clearly he was missing the point. We are not the type of girls that are beneath using the men's room and leaving the seat down. Or putting a pantyliner in your tip jar. (Way to go newbieLucille - "Tipper" is your official blog name now!)
Here's a clue, buddy --
Ask John Wayne Bobbitt if only women bleed.
No comments:
Post a Comment