What's the best way to start the work week? That was the question asked last night by The World's Worst Karaoke DJ. The answer, of course, is a hangover. Surprisingly, I only had a hint of one when I got up early this morning to trudge into work.
Surprisingly, because those seven Shiners had hit me pretty hard last night. And while that probably doesn't sound like a lot to the more seasoned drinkers out there, I'm totally out of practice when it comes to drink mass quantities of hoppy goodness. It's not like the old days, when 'Shank and I would go to Rocky's in the VRC for four pitchers or so five nights a week. No, I'm finally starting to show my age. And while I've never been a champion alcoholic like some of my current and former friends, I've also never passed out in public like some of my current and former friends.
Like I wished this drunk chick would've last night. 'Shank and I were at The Point. He'd wanted to get beers because yesterday was his Friday (or half-Friday, as he confusingly described it, as he only has one day off before he has to go back to making plasticky-things), and I, always up for a reason to get out of the house and get maybe a little buzzed (which almost always means getting a lot buzzed) agreed, never mind the fact that it was my full Sunday night. Meaning, if I wanted to get into work at a decent time (i.e. beat my boss in so I could leave early), I'd have to get up at the latest by 7:30 (which, I realize, is pretty late for most people, but is just right for me).
So there we were, drinking our Shiner Bock (supposedly brewed with an attitude) when we noticed three things about the next table over. 1) there was a guy with an incredibly annoying high-pitched voice that had to be gay (think David Sedaris, on helium). 2) there was a creepy, grizzled ex-Marine (though 'Shank tells me that once a Marine, always a Marine, which is the same thing as "once a baby-killer, always a baby-killer") who reminded us (and the rest of the bar) that the Marine motto or slogan or whatever is "Semper Fi". And, also, that for some reason, Marines really like to say "hoo-rah". And, finally, 3) the drunkest chick I've seen in a long time. Annoyingly drunk. Stumbling around, inisisting she wasn't drunk, just "tired". Climbing on shit. She was a trainwreck. And when she finally got ready to leave, I found myself hoping that she'd be the one driving. Because, you know, I'm a heartless asshole like that. Or so I've been told. By my mom.
We played trivia. Buzztime, on the satellite network. I amazingly got ranked number 6 in the States/Canada on one game. Despite the fact that I was drinking that cold Shiner quickly and it was going to my head. We ate dinner. Over-fried chicken tenders for me and chicken quesadillas for 'Shank, which he described as "asymetrical". The worst part about the whole evening that it was karaoke night. It'd also been karaoke night the previous night. So apparently, The Point has a whole Karaoke Weekend thing going. It was the World's Worst Karaoke DJ both nights, emceeing the show with a gravelly voice that made Wolfman Jack sound as velvetine as Mel Torme. He's the type of guy that if you met him on the street, within fifteen seconds you'd know two things. First, that he's a total douchebag. And, second, that you'd hate him.
What makes him so horrible? Mainly it's the way he tries to pump up the crowd (and I use the term loosely...there's not much of a crowd at a dive bar like The Point on a Sunday night). Saying inane things like "we're gonna get this party started and the place jumpin'". And reminding us to "take care of our waitresses and bartender". The worst part about him, though, is the interlude music. You know how a karaoke DJ will play music between songs that are being sung by participants? Well, the World's Worst Karaoke DJ has a set list of songs that he plays, which I find to be incredibly lame.
Some lame 80s medley which he no doubt made at home
"Fergalicious", which, unfortunately, got stuck in my head. Also, it annoys the fuck out of my that she can't spell "tasty". It's T-A-S-T-Y, not T-A-S-T-E-Y, you horse-faced, pants-pissing wench.
"Santeria", which, while it is a great song, gets old after hearing it over and over again.
"Hot in Herre". It's spelled "H-E-R-E", but I don't expect much out of rappers in the spelling department.
And many others, like a K-TEL collection of lameosity.
As much as I dislike it, I'll probably go back. Because, you know, I identify with lameosity.