It was late Saturday night and I had just finished washing my hair. I felt the need to step out and I was cravin' a Tanquery shot of Penicillin to cure my cabin fever. I figured the best place was a short walk down the street. I prefer to take the car, as whenever I walk down the street I am just inundated with men offering to leave their wives for me. But every now and again a girl needs a boost to the ego, so it was okay.
I sashayed up to the Broadway Bar. You, my dear reader, are probably wondering what a classy lady like myself would be doing in a dive like the Broadway Bar. Well, earlier in the week I spied a flyer that said Veronica would be on tour, taking her "Dog and Pony" show on the road. I had seen one of Ms. Velarde's performances down in TJ once before, and let me tell you, a-mazing. Sadly, I must have misread the flyer, as I was off by a week, and I had missed the show.
But, oh Fortuna, it was Karaoke Night. That was something I could get behind. Nothing like drunken 'mos singing showtunes. Or at least that is what one would think. After six or seven performances of boring ass renditions of "Sister Christian" and "Wind Beneath My Wings," my buzz was fading fast. Then some little 'mo who went by Jose the Pussycat, went up on stage, sequined cape and all. I held my breath. This was going to be good! But then Fortuna's wheel spun against me as the Karaoke Ringmaster announced Jose was going to do an acappella version of Bobby Browns "My prerogative." That was the straw that broke the camels back, and it was indeed my prerogative to get this party started.
I leapt off my bar stool and kicked Jose to the floor. dousing the stage with my gin, I sparked up a ring of fire, snatching the mic from Joses limp wrist seconds before all of his hair product ignited. "Track GR1" I commanded the Karaoke Ringmaster. Then I worked the crowd into a frothy frenzy belting out a version of "Welcome to the Jungle" that would have made even Axel cry.
