My co-conspirator and I needed to get the sour taste of Sucker Punch out of our mouths and only one thing could do that: gyros! Michelle knew this place called Cinderella's that served delicious gyros. On the way I noticed a Chinese restaurant named Pu Pu Hot Pot, which immediately became slang for a certain body part belonging to a certain person. The gyro was excellent. I wasn't sure about lamb; the only other time I had it was in a meat pie with hamburg and other stuff. This thing was a monster, about as thick as a beer can and nearly a foot long. It was sooooooooo good! I want another one right now! And, yes, the server pronounced it "jahy-roh."
After a fantastic dinner we had some time to kill so we searched around for a place to get a drink. This was around seven on a Saturday so it was busy everywhere, including Asgard (an Irish bar?!) and a place with the word "Science" in it. But we found a spot that was dead, and we each had a dark and stormy (though, for the sake of accuracy, I ended up drinking nearly half of Michelle's libation).
After that it was time for Saturday night's main event of Sucker Punch Weekend: karaoke! Karaoke, specifically, at Michelle's haunt, Courtside. I was skeptical about the place at first, thinking it was a sports bar due to its name, but luckily it was named due to its proximity to some court house. Phew! Michelle sang fairly early in the night, performing a lively rendition of "S&M" by Rihanna. She sure belted the hell out of that number! The whole time I was drinking PBR and downed a shooter called "your panties my tongue" - a delightful orange concoction that I think tasted of coconut.
I was getting mighty lit when the emcee called for Harry G (that's me!) to sing AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds (Done Dirt Cheap)" - one of my favorite songs. I'm typically a modest man so believe me, gentle reader, when I tell you that with the exception of a few missteps I rocked it. I fucking rocked it. At the end a table of gay gentlemen and their lady hangers-on chanted "Harry G! Harry G! Harry G!" A truer indication of success may never be discovered.
Shortly after my performance the one low point of karaoke occurred. There was a man there, mid-40's, short hair, his white shirt tucked into his jeans, that I knew if he sang, whatever song he picked would piss me off. I just had this feeling. And Mr. Jackass did not disappoint. Rage filled my head and heart as the opening bars of "Old Time Rock & Roll" started. While Stevie Ray Vaughan is the musician I despise above all others, that particular piece of shit song by that fuckhead Bob Seger is, unquestionably, the worst song ever recorded. And this shitface sang it. I discovered the only thing worse than "Old Time Rock & Roll" is some redneck asshole singing it karaoke-style.
But Michelle was able to drive it out of my head with a balls-to-the-wall rendition of "Highway To Hell" (an AC/DC one-two punch? score!). If the road to Hell was paved with Michelle's karaoke spunk and finesse it would be a journey I wouldn't mind taking.
One o'clock came and it was time to go away. We scored a ride back to Michelle's place (fuck you, bus!). After some water and Tosh.0 it was time for bed. Though I may have squeezed in some Angry Birds.
To be concluded...
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