Karaoke King
What turns a seasoned karaoke hater with avoidance tendencies to turn turtle?
New Years Eve, friends, a microphone, a karaoke CD and no choice. That's what. All mixed together with lashings of beer.
I hate karaoke.
Or did.
I would rather have stuck pins in my eyes than do karaoke.
Before now.
When Young Watski said that he was bringing his karoake cd to the New Years Eve party at my friend Jakes house, I tutted and moaned and cast varying aspersions on the sexuality and sanity of people willing to make a fool of themselves on this entertainment of the devil.
The fact that I have a terrible singing voice is one of countless reasons to sit at the back of any room where the karaoke disease is present and shrink into a chair muttering and wondering about the future of the world.
It's just not normal is it? Why would people with bad voices promote that fact in a room full of people?
By the end of the night they were dragging the microphone from me. I'd sang the whole lot. Spandau Ballet, George Michael, Buggles. You name it, I had a go.
Not Elton John though. A bridge too far.
It was 4am before I was finally stopped. I was giving it the whole arm movements and dancing, the shirt was unbuttoned and the chest was out. Bill Withers' backing band happened to be walking by the house and had to double check that it wasn't the man himself on the mic.
I have now turned into an embarassing older relative.
New Years Eve, friends, a microphone, a karaoke CD and no choice. That's what. All mixed together with lashings of beer.
I hate karaoke.
Or did.
I would rather have stuck pins in my eyes than do karaoke.
Before now.
When Young Watski said that he was bringing his karoake cd to the New Years Eve party at my friend Jakes house, I tutted and moaned and cast varying aspersions on the sexuality and sanity of people willing to make a fool of themselves on this entertainment of the devil.
The fact that I have a terrible singing voice is one of countless reasons to sit at the back of any room where the karaoke disease is present and shrink into a chair muttering and wondering about the future of the world.
It's just not normal is it? Why would people with bad voices promote that fact in a room full of people?
By the end of the night they were dragging the microphone from me. I'd sang the whole lot. Spandau Ballet, George Michael, Buggles. You name it, I had a go.
Not Elton John though. A bridge too far.
It was 4am before I was finally stopped. I was giving it the whole arm movements and dancing, the shirt was unbuttoned and the chest was out. Bill Withers' backing band happened to be walking by the house and had to double check that it wasn't the man himself on the mic.
I have now turned into an embarassing older relative.
