The Limelight

The karaoke bar wasn't much more than a hole in the wall. A hole in the floor actually. But alcohol fixes everything and I can see how people could have a good time at The Limelight weekend after weekend. Not that I'd be showing my face there every Friday.

Hey James, how's it going?
I hate myself. Do they serve beer here?
I got my song over with at the beginning after pounding back a couple. After purposefully making an asshole of myself so that I wouldn't be badgered all night to go and sing, I sat back and watched and listened and wished I could drink more. After drinking every night for the past week it was weird cutting myself off.



The evening was spent poring through the songlist saying "I don't know what to do". Someone suggested Rick James. Impulsively, I said, "Rick James, bitch". I immediately wanted to take it back, considering those three words are three of the most overused of the last year. But these Steinbach children didn't understand what I was talking about and I just got dumb looks. Brett settled for some Pearl Jam.

I rejected any offers to go again or do any duets. However, I was tempted by Marcus to do songs off of The Lion King soundtrack. Hakuna Matata, bitch.

Marcus is a strange fellow. He is a boy who enjoys pickles, especially big ones. One day he put a big pickle in his mouth and dropped his trousers. I watched Marcus hop around with his pants around his ankles, munching on his pickle and muttering something about slight imperfections and being sorry about the catfight. He then took an electric razor to his eyelashes and missed and fucked up his eyes real good but it's okay because he still likes pickles.