A Blatant Attempt to Spice It Up Around Here (Or: SEX! SEX! SEX!)

Good morning, campers!

(So it's afternoon, almost evening. Who cares?)

I am one of the tragically un-hip. That much is a given. As proof: I went to a bar for the express purpose of singing karaoke last night. And I go every week. Doesn't that just scream, "Loser"?

So I'm waiting to see if I'll be up one last time, so I can sing some Barry (Manilow, not White; not "Can't Get Enough of Your Love Babe," but rather, "Copacabana (At the Copa)"...yes, I'm continually aware that I suck). And meanwhile, there's a group of girls, with a few guys, in back. One of said hot, hot, hot graduates from the drama queen academy starts to pester me about letting her and her friends sing the next song with me. Offers me a twenty. My buddy Brian whispers, none too softly, that I should ask for--yeah, you guessed it--*makes sucking noise*. Have the girl make like Monica Lewinsky. The reason I say Brian said it none too softly was that next thing you know, she starts volunteering half her cadre's services in administering said action (without asking any of them, natch). Are we having fun yet? Of course, not being the epitome of James Dean-style cool, and never having been in said situation before to consider a response, I'm struck dumb.

You know what song they wanna sing? Gloria Gaynor's 1979 ode to homosexuals the world over, "I Will Survive." They tell me "Copa" is too old and they don't know it. Never mind, of course, that Manilow's song debuted only the year before "I Will Survive." So, they want to emasculate me and make it up to me by sucking my d!ck.* Are we having fun yet?

I turned 'em down. Of course I turned 'em down! Guys around who may or may not be boyfriends, girls freely attempting to loan out their girlfriends for sex (okay, so most young people today don't consider oral to be sex, but anyway...)...it all adds up to cruelty. But I could have had more fun with it. You know, I could have asked for a sign of good faith. I could have even gone so far as to *gasp* actually sing the song they wanted me to sing. (I have thought about it, even though I don't go...the way most guys who sing that song go.) What's the best line I could manage? "Let me think about that for a second.....ummmmmmmmmm, no."

And then I started singing the Barry, using the wireless mic my buddy brought, and dancing with a few older women (to qualify: a few years older than me) in tow around the bar.

Please, someone just kill me.

Or teach me to be cool.


P.S.: Some time later, the same girl had whipped cream from the birthday girl's cake in her hand. As Brian sang around the bar, she went up to him and smeared some on his face. He quickly took said cream and smeared it right through her hair! I had to give him a high-five. Good grief, that was funny. Worst thing is, it seems she didn't even really notice.

P.P.S.: * - Self-censorship brought to you by the guy dressed as a pirate in Michael Nesmith's Elephant Parts that brought you the letter "I."

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