by Debaser » Fri Jul 11, 2003 11:32 pm
So I'm sitting around tonight, resigned to another Friday of depresed masturbation, when I find out a buddy of mine has just come back from Boston and he, his sister, and his cousin plan on hitting "the town:.
So we go to this karioke bar called the Rio Bravo, and his underage sister can't get in. She, naturally, wants to go elsewhere with some friend of hers, and desires us to go along.
My buddy Raf: So, you're friend: Is she cute?
Debaser: More importantly: Is she desperate?
Raf's sister: Not that desperate.
So we stay at the Bravo. And drink. A lot. Somewhere in the midst of this, I decide to sign up for karioke. Raf has already signed up for Ben Fold's Five's "Army", and the only other songs in the book I know the words to are Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" and the Cardigan's "Love Fool". I somehow convince myself to sign up for the latter, perhaps figuring that it's late in the evening, and they'll never get to me. They do. So, I figure, what the hell.
Debaser: This goes out to all the perverts, stalkers, and statuatory rapists in the audience...
By the time I finish my final growling, angry chorus of "I can't care about anything but you", the place has gone dead silent. Everyone is just staring, blank-faced. I throw my hands up triumphantly, and we leave the bar (undertipping, natch) to head to some after-hours place as the chick after me sets in on some country-western toon.
A couple beers, and one subtle copped feel later, I'm back here, posting a story none of you care about. But, damn, it's been a glorious evening.
So I'm sitting around tonight, resigned to another Friday of depresed masturbation, when I find out a buddy of mine has just come back from Boston and he, his sister, and his cousin plan on hitting "the town:.
So we go to this karioke bar called the Rio Bravo, and his underage sister can't get in. She, naturally, wants to go elsewhere with some friend of hers, and desires us to go along.
My buddy Raf: So, you're friend: Is she cute?
Debaser: More importantly: Is she desperate?
Raf's sister: Not [i]that[/i] desperate.
So we stay at the Bravo. And drink. A lot. Somewhere in the midst of this, I decide to sign up for karioke. Raf has already signed up for Ben Fold's Five's "Army", and the only other songs in the book I know the words to are Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" and the Cardigan's "Love Fool". I somehow convince myself to sign up for the latter, perhaps figuring that it's late in the evening, and they'll never get to me. They do. So, I figure, what the hell.
Debaser: This goes out to all the perverts, stalkers, and statuatory rapists in the audience...
By the time I finish my final growling, angry chorus of "I can't care about anything but you", the place has gone [i]dead[/i] silent. Everyone is just staring, blank-faced. I throw my hands up triumphantly, and we leave the bar (undertipping, natch) to head to some after-hours place as the chick after me sets in on some country-western toon.
A couple beers, and one subtle copped feel later, I'm back here, posting a story none of you care about. But, damn, it's been a glorious evening.