Seattle Zack
Count each one
- Joined
- Aug 29, 2003
- Posts
- 1,128
Very close to where I work is a little tavern. Quite unremarkable, actually. The reason I enjoy it is they have fourteen televisions (usually tuned to sporting events), a big-titted bartender that serves strong drinks, and cold Red Hook on tap. I occasionally stop in before I head home from work, to catch the last quarter of a Sonics game, perhaps, and to enjoy the local crowd.
For the most part this is a locals' bar, not a pickup joint. About 80% male, lots of baseball caps and construction workers. The women are, for the most part ... how can I say this delicately ... fat.
Things kind of change at nine pee em, because this bar offers, as the sign outside proclaims "KARAOKE 7 NIGHTS AWEEK."
Now I hate karaoke. I have done it once, under the influence of lots of tequila and the strident urging of a particular female that I wanted to see naked. It was an experience that I will never repeat.
So, I've suffered through some Fractured Melodies at this particular bar. Given the clientele, there are lots of Charlie Daniels and Garth Brooks interpritations. Gretchen Wilson's "Redneck Woman" (a paean to trailer trash if ever there was one) is a particular favorite, and any patron can be expected to endure four or five renditions of it during an evening.
Let it be said, this is not a Nice Part of Town. The Strip, as it is known, is where Gary Ridgeway plied his deadly trade for more than two decades, cruising in his green pickup truck and strangling women in his pale blue, one-story house near Military Road, a few blocks from Pacific Highway South.
Why, once, coming out of a 7-11, I negotiated a blowjob for four cigarettes and two bottles of beer. This was while I was trying to get to my bus stop to catch my 174 Northbound. Needless to say, I missed my bus. But that's another story.
This tavern tends to attract its share of Oddballs, Drunks, and Losers, which makes it interesting. And, it's a karaoke bar. Which brings me to the point of my Story.
Not to say that there aren't some talented singers at this particular Watering Hole. There are. In fact, a couple tried out for the Seattle audition of American Idol (for those of you who don't live in the States, it's a TV show where aspiring karaoke singers try out before a panel of B-list celebrities. Good humiliating fun, all in all).
So, I go in to the bar this evening, hoping to catch the end of the Duke-Wake Forest matchup (I didn't have any Money on the game, but I still wanted to see how it ended).....
At eight pee em, every television in the place was switched to American Idol. From what I was able to gather, this loser (who had crashed and burned at the Seattle audition) had flown down to San Francisco and somehow managed to get on television.
His song was atrocious. It was embarrassing, even though I didn't even know him, I still felt bad. Why the fuck would you do that?
I have never seen the show before. Watching this thing, it was like having having Spikes driven through my Eyeballs. Not only did I miss the Duke game, I was subjected to the squealing of Fat Girls (you ever notice, the bigger they are, the more obnoxious they squeal? I have never heard a thin girl make noises like that....)
You girls that follow the show religiously know his name, I have no idea. He was the one that Simon offered to give fifty Gs if he ever got a #1 record, an offer that was promptly doubled and redoubled by two of the other panelists.
So this loser was rejected, which was immediately followed by a profanitley-laced tirade. Perfectly acceptable, I suppose, in American Reality Television. No need to conduct yourself with any grace or dignity At least you got your fifteen seconds on Fox Television.
So then, this guy comes in to the bar a few hours later and everyone's flocking around him like he's like a Big Celebrity. Paople are having their pictures takes with him! He was humiliated on National Television and, somehow, he made it.
And the worst part is, he sang the same song tonight again at the Karaoke Bar. And he was even worse.
Is America great or what?
For the most part this is a locals' bar, not a pickup joint. About 80% male, lots of baseball caps and construction workers. The women are, for the most part ... how can I say this delicately ... fat.
Things kind of change at nine pee em, because this bar offers, as the sign outside proclaims "KARAOKE 7 NIGHTS AWEEK."
Now I hate karaoke. I have done it once, under the influence of lots of tequila and the strident urging of a particular female that I wanted to see naked. It was an experience that I will never repeat.
So, I've suffered through some Fractured Melodies at this particular bar. Given the clientele, there are lots of Charlie Daniels and Garth Brooks interpritations. Gretchen Wilson's "Redneck Woman" (a paean to trailer trash if ever there was one) is a particular favorite, and any patron can be expected to endure four or five renditions of it during an evening.
Let it be said, this is not a Nice Part of Town. The Strip, as it is known, is where Gary Ridgeway plied his deadly trade for more than two decades, cruising in his green pickup truck and strangling women in his pale blue, one-story house near Military Road, a few blocks from Pacific Highway South.
Why, once, coming out of a 7-11, I negotiated a blowjob for four cigarettes and two bottles of beer. This was while I was trying to get to my bus stop to catch my 174 Northbound. Needless to say, I missed my bus. But that's another story.
This tavern tends to attract its share of Oddballs, Drunks, and Losers, which makes it interesting. And, it's a karaoke bar. Which brings me to the point of my Story.
Not to say that there aren't some talented singers at this particular Watering Hole. There are. In fact, a couple tried out for the Seattle audition of American Idol (for those of you who don't live in the States, it's a TV show where aspiring karaoke singers try out before a panel of B-list celebrities. Good humiliating fun, all in all).
So, I go in to the bar this evening, hoping to catch the end of the Duke-Wake Forest matchup (I didn't have any Money on the game, but I still wanted to see how it ended).....
At eight pee em, every television in the place was switched to American Idol. From what I was able to gather, this loser (who had crashed and burned at the Seattle audition) had flown down to San Francisco and somehow managed to get on television.
His song was atrocious. It was embarrassing, even though I didn't even know him, I still felt bad. Why the fuck would you do that?
I have never seen the show before. Watching this thing, it was like having having Spikes driven through my Eyeballs. Not only did I miss the Duke game, I was subjected to the squealing of Fat Girls (you ever notice, the bigger they are, the more obnoxious they squeal? I have never heard a thin girl make noises like that....)
You girls that follow the show religiously know his name, I have no idea. He was the one that Simon offered to give fifty Gs if he ever got a #1 record, an offer that was promptly doubled and redoubled by two of the other panelists.
So this loser was rejected, which was immediately followed by a profanitley-laced tirade. Perfectly acceptable, I suppose, in American Reality Television. No need to conduct yourself with any grace or dignity At least you got your fifteen seconds on Fox Television.
So then, this guy comes in to the bar a few hours later and everyone's flocking around him like he's like a Big Celebrity. Paople are having their pictures takes with him! He was humiliated on National Television and, somehow, he made it.
And the worst part is, he sang the same song tonight again at the Karaoke Bar. And he was even worse.
Is America great or what?
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