6 hours of karaoke is inhuman

I like karaoke. Really, I do. But man was not made to do it for six hours at a stretch.

Case in point: I joined my friend Eddie, his wife and a couple of his friends at Duet on the East Side. 6 hours.

I wanted to die around hour five. But boy, did I belt out every Jim Steinman song that I could find. Eddie’s friends (all Japanese) sang about every Blue Hearts song they could find. Petrina came late, fresh from dealing with the maid club affiliated with NYAF. She was as ready to kill people as I’d ever seen her (which means that she was still soft-spoken), fresh from having to deal with ridiculous drama queens whose sole claim to fame is dressing like a fucking little french maid.

I’m tired. My iPhone is tired. We all deserve a break.


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