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7:36 a.m. - 2005-03-18


Yesterday morning I woke up and felt like I had one of those big burly Italian mafia guys who wears all black and constantly has stubble on his cheeks and says things like "Youse guys are gonna get a beatin'" pounding on my back.

So I took a pain pill that I had leftover from my root canal oh so many months ago.

Everything was fine until I got to work.

And all of a sudden ... everything started swimming.

And I was really REALLY tired.

As it was just me and Jill in the joint, this was cool because this meant I could just hang out and do nothing.

Which is what I did.

Until about 2:00.

And then, as I was sitting at my desk trying desperately to stay awake, I just told Jill "I'm going home and going to bed."

"Okay," Jill said.

And I went home and passed out in the bed.

And THAT'S why I love my job.

Last night was our big St. Patrick's Day party at the club.

Which meant lotsa green beer for the customers and I was actually in a decent mood because I had a two-hour nap beforehand.

Everything was going good until the Karaoke Whores showed up.

The Karaoke Whores are a group of people who grab a Karaoke book and stay nose-deep in it for the entire evening, scribbling out the songs they want to sing and shoving them in my face every two minutes.

Which means that at LEAST every other song, a Karaoke Whore is singing it.

And the goddamndest thing is ... they sing the same shit every single week and it drives me fucking nuts.

Why even grab a book?

Just write the same 30 songs down on a sheet of paper, make copies at Kinkos and give me a copy each week.

Hell ... even better, just laminate a copy and give it to me and I'll keep it with my stuff.

Sheesh already.

So I let them all do Karaoke until about midnight when the requests dry up and people seem to be more in a dance mood than in a "Sit And Listen To The Karaoke Whores Think They're On American Idol" mood.

So I play that fucking "Electric Slide" song followed by "Joy and Pain" by Rob Base.

And Jay-Bird comes running up to the booth.

Jay-Bird is like the King of the Karaoke Whores. He's a decent singer and a really nice guy which makes it tough for me to look him in the eye and say "Enough with the Karaoke shit, you fucky fuck!"

"Where's my other Karaoke requests?" he says in a genuine panic.

"Huh?" I say back the best of my knowledge ... Jay-Bird has already sang every one of his 21 requested songs and bored the shit out of everyone in the room who are sick to death of Karaoke by this point.

"I gave you three requests last time I came up here and you only played one," he said, exasperated.



"Oh," I said. "I didn't see those."

(Keep in mind ... I get paid to be nice to these ungodly pricks.)

So after hearing Karaoke all night and then playing about 8 minutes of actual dance music, I had to massage Jay-Bird's fragile ego, call him back out to the dance floor, let him sing "Don't Be Cruel" and "It's Still Rock and Roll To Me" and THEN THEN THEN I could go back to playing actual music.

Except once Jay-Bird sang his songs, the other Karaoke Whores started flying around the booth, chirping that they had more songs to sing too ... like that wacky "Love Shack" song or ... HEY! Here's a kooky idea! Let's do that song from "Grease" ... "Summer Nights"!!! Won't that be a kick?!? Gosh .... NOBODY ever sings that one!!


So by now, I'm dead dog tired ... the second wave of Karaoke Whoredom has taken effect and the people are not. Going. Home.

It's 12:30 and we've got close to a hundred people still in the club.

And now the Karaoke Whores aren't the only ones singing. Now every drunken bastard in the place thinks they're the reincarnation of Frank Sinatra.

Except, rather than singing, they're screaming into the microphone.

So when one guy does an EXTREMELY punk version of "Margaritaville", screeching at the top of his lungs ... well ... I snapped.

In the nicest tone possible, I cut him off halfway through the song and just quietly said "That concludes our Karaoke portion of the evening. Now sit back and relax to the soulful sounds of Mr. William Shatner."

I put on "Common People" by William Shatner ... which is my current favorite song and the one song that guarantees people will leave once it starts playing because it's way too new and punky for these people.

Except. They. Wouldn't. Leave.


At 2 a.m.

We called it quits with about 75 people still in the bar.

When the music stopped, I was greeted with a loud barrage of boos.

I reminded everyone that it was not Friday night, but THURSDAY night and that while we appreciated them all drinking until their livers turned black ... I wasn't the only one who had to be at work in the morning.

Suddenly it dawned on these drunken fuckers.

They had to be at work in five hours.

They ran out the door like I had just yelled "Free beer served by nudists in the parking lot!"

Soooo ... I got to sleep about 3:30 this morning.

Got up at 6:30.

I have to be at the Taxman's office at 9 to do my taxes.

Then it's off to work.

Where I CAN'T just say "I'm still tired ... I'm going back home to bed."

Then it's work again tonight.

Then it's watching Andrew all day tomorrow while Susie goes to work.


I'm gonna die.

I just know it.

You can all sign in to the comments section now and thank Chris while you're there.

Chris renewed my super-gold membership for another three months which is just so awesomely cool of Chris to do.

I honestly probably wasn't going to renew it because I'm trying to put my money toward taxes for the most part because I don't know how much I'm going to owe since I made $12,000 last year that I didn't pay taxes on.

But Chris stepped up to the plate and youse guys have a comments board until mid-June.

At which point, somebody else will have to pony up the moolah to keep the comments board running.

Or something.

Shit, I'm tired.

Time to shower.

Have a good 'un.

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