Song Assassin: Guest Blogger Tim Benker!

A guest assassin will skewer one of his favorites today.  The Blogger:  Tim Benker.  The song:  Steve Miller's "Take The Money And Run" 

I have known Mr. Benker for a long, long time.  He was my first comedy friend as we started out in the biz on the same day back in January of 1982.  Here he does a great job of picking apart this classic!

                 Here's the song!  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mTti_fYPiWY&feature=fvst

Take the Money and Run

"Take the Money and Run" is a song recorded in 1976 by the Steve Miller Band. A song about two young bandits, and featured on the album Fly Like an Eagle. The song peaked at #11 on the U.S. Billboard Hot 100.

The song also shares the same basic chordal structure with Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Sweet Home Alabama" and Warren Zevon's "Werewolves of London”

The lame story is not as big a mess as how the author attempts to tell it.

This is a story ‘bout Billy Joe and Bobby Sue

It is a story that starts by telling you that it is in fact, a story...the names in the story are quite androgenous so it is either about two hillbillies of undisclosed gender...that could be brother and sister... or it is about two southern lesbians

Two young lovers with nothing better to do

This could confirm the hillbilly brother and sister theory.

Than sit around the house, get high and watch the tube

Sounds like a full rich day for hillbillies

Here’s what happened when they decided to cut loose

They headed down to Old El Paso

Whoa...settle down you two!!  Cuttin loose in Old El Paso!!!  When I want to “cut loose”, I know Old El Paso is the first place I want to go...to buy more drugs, and to buy a jar of Salsa!

That’s where they ran into a great big hassle

When sung in the original recording, the line sounds like “they ran into a great big asshole”...I hear that and I envision them physically  with big bags of money and guns drawn running straight into a giant anus....that or getting into a car wreck with Newt Gingrich.

Billy Joe, shot a man while robbing his castle

I don’t think THEY ran into a great big hassle, the guy they robbed and shot was the one who had the great big hassle run into HIM...Billy Joe was the hassle-er. Also, I have been to El Paso a few times, and the only castles I ever saw was at the mini golf  place, or the mini hamburger restaurant.

Bobby sue, took the money and run

This is not a typo...Bobby Sue took the money, past tense and run...in present tense...She’s good, she managed to change tense in the middle of a single action...She could have “taken the money and ran”, but that would screw up the chorus....She could “take the money and runs” but that would sound like she stole diarrhea. The only thing we know for sure is Bobby Sue did indeed, run off with the money grammatically incorrect fashion..

Go, On take the Money and Run

This is a bold endorsement of the heinous and felonious actions of Billy Joe and Bobby Sue...Go on, shoot a man in cold blood, rob his castle, you have nothing better to do , Go on, take the money... take it!!! get the hell out of here...it’s okay!!

Go On take the Money and Run

The encouragement is repeated  in case the murderers didn’t think of this exit strategy themselves...then blasphemed:

OOO Lord! Go On take the Money and Run

Billy Mac is a detective down in Texas

Another bi-monikerred  southern guy enters the story...and in case of confusion, we get clarity on which state in the union Old El Paso is located.

You know he knows exactly what the facts is

Billy Mac does not know what the facts are, but he definitely knows what the facts IS....that the kind of detective he are. Or maybe he knows what a FAX is...even though they hadn’t been invented yet in 1976.

He ain’t gonna let those two escape justice

At least that’s what it says in his Texas detective oath

He makes his living off of other people’s taxes

This says to me, Billy Mac works for H&R Block on the side for extra money...

It’s in this verse where the author of the song does not take poetic license,  but rather, he is beaten by the poetic police and has his poetic license revoked. In an historical move, the author rhymes Texas, Facts is, justice and taxes...Could he have been with Billy Joe and Bobby Sue getting high while he wrote this verse?

He would have had better luck rhyming this verse had he started with “Bernie Mac has a defective pound of Tampax”

Bobby Sue, oh she slipped away

Well, you see, she escaped justice right there...

Billy Joe caught up the very next day

Another escapee...

They got the money, hey, you know they got away

Where the fuck is Billy Mac?? They got away! All his crap about letting those two escape justice is just that, crap! We need another detective for a missing person case..... Did Billy Mac just give up? Is he on another case? Or is the author holding out on us and secretly wrote a verse where Billy Joe and Bobby Sue come face to face with Billy Mac and they offer him a he chunk if he buried the guy they shot and to let them off the hook for robbery, and he took the deal  as long as his name  didn’t get another mention in the song...

They headed down south and they’re still running today

They started out in Texas and they headed down south from there...our fugitives are currently living in a penguin colony in Antactica, and are going nowhere,  much like the story in this song. Ooh, Lord!

Go On, take the Money and Run

Song Assassin: Diary

                                    Song Assassin:  Diary

The target for today is a sweet little ballad written by David Gates of the popular group, Bread.  “Diary” was released on April 22, 1972 and made it all the way to number 15 on the pop charts (say that last sentence in a Casey Kasem voice).  If you are not familiar with the song, or if you’d just like to hear it again, here’s where you can find it:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=24IfD-0VUu4

                                Diary

I found her diary underneath a tree.  Ok, we begin the song with carelessness.  She just left her diary underneath a tree?  Was this accidental?  Is she just that trusting?  Did she just think, “I’ll just leave my diary with my most private thoughts, here underneath this tree.”  I’m sure it will be fine.” And really, who actually keeps a diary?  Why the hell would you set yourself up for the humiliation of having some douchebag finding it and making a song about it?  I’ve never known anyone who had a diary.  The only people who kept diaries were TV characters… and I guess ladies in songs.

and started reading about me. Is that what you did, you pompous ass?  You started reading about YOU? I would think that her diary would be about HER!  Secondly, why would you just pick up her diary and start reading it, you dick?  You care so little about her right of privacy, and the fact that you are invading it, that you are telling everyone, IN SONG, that you are reading her diary?
The words she'd written took me by surprise.  Did they?
You’d never read them in her eyes. Really?  So you are not just an expert at reading other people’s personal stuff, you are also skilled at reading eyes?  Wow!  Why you ARE a catch, aren’t you? 
They said that she had found the love she waited for.
Wouldn't you know it, she wouldn't show it. This should be your first clue, dumbass!  If she didn’t show you that you were the love she’d waited for, why would you believe that she was writing about you? The song should be over here, Dr Deduction!  She found the love that she’d waited for, but shows no indication, in her eyes or anywhere else, that she’s all that crazy about you. 

When she confronted with the writing there, kind of a weird combination of words.
simply pretended not to care. She PRETENDED not to care?
I passed it off as just in keeping with
her total disconcerting air is that what you did? You passed it off as just in keeping with her disconcerting air?

*Disconcerting air kind of sounds like another term for the aftermath of someone passing gas.  “What the hell is that, Bill? Was that you?  Dear God that is some disconcerting air!”

 “Obviously this chick’s crazy about me.  The fact that she admittedly ‘doesn’t show it’ means nothing.  She is writing about me in this diary that she left underneath the tree.  It’s all about me.  It’s that disconcerting air of hers that makes it look like she couldn’t give a rat’s ass about me.  You know those women and their disconcerting airs”
And though she tried to hide
the love that she denied,
wouldn't you know it, she wouldn't show it. Not to beat a dead horse here Chalmers, but it surely doesn’t appear that she has too much love to throw your way.  Denied or otherwise.
And as I go through my life, I will give to her my wife Wait, she’s your wife?  Are you really married to her or is this just the way you see things shaking down?  Does it say somewhere in this diary that she’s waiting for Mr. Privacy Invader to pop the question?

all the sweet things I can find. All the sweet things you can find?  So you are looking for sweet things?  And when you find them you will give them to her?  That’s so sweet!  Now put down her fucking diary!
I found her diary underneath a tree
and started reading about me. You still feel no guilt here, do you?  And so far, you still think this is all about you?
The words began stick and tears to flow. Ok, here we go.
Her meaning now was clear to see. NOW it’s clear to see?
The love she'd waited for was someone else not me. This is where the bells and whistles start going off like when someone said the secret word on Pee Wee’s Playhouse!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tWnXN1FLR5o&feature=related  (forward to 1:47)

Wouldn’t you know it, she wouldn't show it. Actually, I WOULD know it!

And as I go through my life, I will wish for her his wife. So now she’s HIS wife?  You’ve given up that easily?  I guess it’s time to go find another diary, carelessly left out somewhere for the world to read.  Certainly when you find it, it will undoubtedly be about you.
all the sweet things that she can find Oh I see, now that you have graciously bowed out, she must find the sweet things herself.  You’re on your own, bitch!  Find your own sweet things.  I was going to find them for you, my wife.  Whatever!
All the sweet things they can find.  “Ok, you know what? Why don’t you just get him to find them with you?  Your loss!”

Seems to me she left the diary out on purpose.  She was gambling on the possibility that he knew how to read.

Song assassin-The Night That The Lights Went Out In Georgia.

I would like to introduce a new segment to the blog. I call it “The Song Assassin” I will find the songs with the most nonsensical and/or ridiculous lyrics, and attack them.  It’s that simple. 
My first installment is a cute little ditty called "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia" is a Southern Gothic song written by songwriter Bobby Russell and performed in 1972 by his then-wife Vicki Lawrence;
Recorded in late October 1972 in United/Western Studios on Sunset in Hollywood and released less than two weeks later in November 1972, the song centers around the older brother of the narrator.  Here’s the song if you’d like to play along:

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6-4N0IPVh8

 The lyrics are as follows:

The night that the lights went out in Georgia

He was on his way home from Candletop. I was not able to ascertain where or what Candletop is.  I’m guessing a place where guys who appear in songs go.
Been two weeks gone and he thought he'd stop
At Web’s His favorite watering hole, no doubt

and have him a drink for he went home to her We will learn more of “her” later.
Andy Wolloe said hello.  Andy Wolloe, WO-LO
He said hi what's a doing, Wo? Wolloe’s nickname is “WO”
Said sit down I got some bad news that's gonna hurt. This, as opposed to the bad news that generally makes you feel fantastic!  Of course the bad news is gonna hurt.  It’s bad news, Wolloe!  Wolloe could have just said, “I’ve got some bad news”
Said I’m your best friend and you know that's right This is where he tells him that he’s his best friend, and follows it up with “and you know that’s right.”  Who is this guy that can’t just decide on his own who is best friend is?  What is he, Frankenstein?  “Yes, I want friend! Yes, I know that’s right!  Wolloe friend!”
But your young bride aint home tonight The bride of Frankenstein?
Since you been gone she's been seeing that Amos boy Seth Yes, bad news indeed.  His young bride has been banging Seth Amos while he was doing whatever he does in Candeltop.
He got mad and he saw red
Andy said boy don't you lose your head
Cause to tell you the truth I’ve been with her myself.  What?  Wolloe says in one breath, “Don’t lose your head” then follows that up with, “I’m actually hitting that as well” How does that make sense?  “Don’t get mad brother; I’m having intercourse with your wife, too.”  Yeah, that’ll calm him down.

Chorus:
That's the night the lights went out in Georgia The title of the song.
That's the night that they hung an innocent man.  Now this might make you think, why would hanging a man make the lights go out.  Had they electrocuted him, I could see how something like that might possibly happen depending on when in history, and where in Georgia this all went down.  And really the correct term is “hanged” right? And when they say “Georgia” do they mean the entire state?  All of Georgia suffered blackout conditions because some guy got unfairly lynched in the woods?
Don't trust your soul to no back woods southern lawyer
Cause the judge in the towns got bloodstains on his hand.  So the reason here to not trust a backwoods southern lawyer is because the judge in the town has blood stains on his hands?  I would choose not to trust him because he’s a backwoods southern lawyer.  How did the judge get blood stains on his hands?  Did he wash up before presiding?  That would be weird to be in court and then notice that the judge has blood stains on his hands.  I would be like, “What’s up with his honor?  Did he have a really bad nose bleed and he didn’t have any Kleenex or toilet paper at first and just put his hands up there to catch the blood?  I have actually had that happen, but I’ve always made sure that the blood was washed before returning to work.  This just makes me think that he doesn’t wash his hands ever before returning to work. 
Andy got scared and left the bar.  So Andy got scared?  How did he really envision this scenario going down?  He just told this guy that Seth Amos, and he himself were slamming his young bride while he was at good ol’ Candeltop.  Wolloe didn’t see any conflict on the horizon?
Walking on home cause he didn't live far.  It just makes sense that Andy lived walking distance from the bar.  You see
Andy didn't have many friends and he just lost him one.  So wait, Andy didn’t have many friends?  Go figure.  Why in the world do you suppose a stand-up dude like Andy Wolloe wouldn’t have many friends?
Brother thought his wife must’ve left town, why did brother immediately think that his wife must have left town?  Did brother assume that his wife would predict that dumbass Wolloe, or one of the countless other village idiots that she put out for, would blow the whistle? Then I could see her leaving town and finding another friendly berg in which to have sex with all the townfolk.
So he went home and finally found the only thing
Papa had left him and that was a gun.  He FINALLY found it.  How long do you suppose he looked for the thing?  It’s his house, and in it is the only thing that Papa had left him.  Why wouldn’t he instantly know where it was?  Hmm, now where do I usually keep the gun that my daddy left me?  Oh, there it is!  You know this stuff is always in the last place that you look.  I know you really don’t keep looking after you find something, but I’m serious.  I was not going to look anymore.  I said to myself, this is the last place I’m going to look and there’s the gun.  How do you like that?  FINALLY!  I FINALLY found it!
He went off to Andy’s house
slipping through the back woods quiet as a mouse Now if he’s “slippin’ through the backwoods” I would think that it would be difficult to be as “quiet as a mouse.”  The slipping, I would think, might make for some noise out there near Andy’s house.
Came upon some tracks too small for Andy to make.  “So” thought brother, “these footprints are kind of small.  They seem too small for Andy to make.  Or are they?  Maybe Andy has really small feet.  I never really looked at his feet.  Man he’s got really small feet.  I guess that probably means that Andy’s…well you know.  I suppose I do feel a slight bit better knowing that this guy was doing my old lady with smaller junk than mine.  I guess the joke’s on her.  Whore!
He looked through the screen at the back porch door
He saw Andy lying on the floor
in a puddle of blood and he started to shake.  Whenever I heard this part of the song, I thought they were saying “Andy started to shake” which made no sense because Andy, at this point, was seemingly deceased.  I later realized it was “and he started to shake”

The Georgia patrol was making their rounds
so he fired a shot just to flag em down.  Ok, really?  C’mon brother! The Georgia Patrol was making their rounds, and you are fully aware of their proximity.  You are holding a gun and standing over a recently murdered dude who was fornicating with your wife while you were at Candletop; and your first instinct is to fire the gun just to flag them down?  You deserve to die.  You deserve to freaking die!
And a big bellied sheriff why do all the southern sheriffs, except Andy Taylor, have to have big bellies? grabbed his gun and said
Why’d you do it? And when he asks “Why’d you do it?” he’s asking, “Why the hell did you shoot off the gun when we were driving by?”  You obviously knew we were making our rounds, dumbass!  I also picture the big bellied sheriff, if we are going to push the stereotype, holding a doughnut with his other hand.  He grabbed the gun with one hand, and held onto the doughnut with the other.

The judge said guilty in a make believe trial. Why was it a make believe trial?  Who was this judge?  King Friday the Thirteenth?  Who was the defense attorney, Winnie the Pooh? Where was the judge with the blood stains on his hands?  I would guess that he conducts court that is not just imagined.  Slapped the sheriff on the back with a smile and said
Suppers waiting at home and I got to get to it.  The wise judge spoke in a vernacular that the “big bellied sheriff” could understand.  “I’m going to eat food, big bellied sheriff.  I’ve to get to it so that I can eat it.”

Chorus  Yes, repeat the chorus here

They hung (I’m still pretty sure it’s hanged, though I think brother might misinterpret this purposely just to flatter himself, particularly when he compares himself to that pencil dick Andy Wolloe)

my brother before I could say
The tracks he saw while on his way
To Andy’s house and back that night were mine.  What?  Did she get there just a bit too late?  “Wait a minute, big bellied Sheriff, the tracks he saw while on his way to Andy’s house were mine!”  She is implying that she actually WAS going to say this.  “Those were not Andy’s footprints.  Andy actually does have really big feet…and everything else.  Cause to tell you the truth; I’ve been with him myself.”  
And his cheatin wife had never left town
and that's one body that’ll never be found
You see little sister don't miss when she aims her gun  and yes, little sister was apparently left a gun from dear old dad as well.  Little sister off’d Wolloe.  Her brother, just back from Candletop, gets executed for it.  Guy gets screwed over by his wife, his sister, and a backwoods southern lawyer.  Though the trial was make believe, his death was very real.  I don’t know who said it first, but the term, “Life’s a bitch and then you die” could not be more fitting.  Also no word on how long it took Com Ed to restore power in Georgia.

The Worst Joke Ever!

Jokes.  I love ‘em.  Whether it’s from someone’s act or just one of those old “street jokes” we hear from a friend.  I can surely appreciate a well crafted joke.  That said, I am known to equally hate the bad ones, the poorly constructed, devoid of foundation, hole filled attempts at comedy that make you wonder how this one has survived long enough to reach you.  I certainly understand that the ridiculous is often employed when a joke is told and there is certain license allowed for such things.  Most of the time, I just move on  and hope to never hear them again, but some are so god awful that I just can’t let go. The following is one that I probably heard first when I was in second or third grade, and I thought it was funny at the time.  It’s a sports joke and features the old “insert bad baseball team here” I’m certain it’s been told millions of times using one team or another.  I now wish to pick it apart for your enjoyment as well as my own. I know it’s just a joke, but this crime can no longer go unpunished.  Here it is:

Heard over the public address at Wrigley Field: “Will the lady with the nine lost children please come pick them up.  They’re beating the Cubs eleven to nothing.”

Okay, where to start?  There is a lady who brought nine children to Wrigley Field, and she lost them.  She lost all of them!  All nine kids!  She must have reported this to someone or the PA announcer would not have known that a “lady” had lost her nine children.  Now, how much time do you think had passed before these nine kids were discovered on the field playing against the Cubs?  At least long enough for them to rack up eleven runs.  These kids got onto the field and played an undetermined period of time against the Cubs and scored eleven times before anyone noticed that this was going on?    Who let them onto the field?  Where was the team that the Cubs were supposed to be playing?    Where were the umpires?  Did they call the balls and strikes?  Did the scoreboard operator record the tallies as these children had their way with the Chicago Cubs?  Did all the kids have gloves?  Did they have bats?  Where did they get bats?  How did the crowd react to this?  Why did the Cubs engage these missing children in a game of baseball when they had another game scheduled?  Why did this lady bring nine children to a game?  How did they all get away?  All of them!  She wasn’t able to keep even one in sight?  Why did it take the PA announcer to call to her attention to the fact that these kids were on the field and beating the Cubs 11-0?  Are they all her kids?  How can a woman stupid enough to lose sight of every one of nine kids afford ten tickets to a major league baseball game?  How did she get these kids to the game?  Did the radio and TV announcers call the play by play?  Did any of them during the broadcast say, “Hey why do you suppose the Cubs are playing against nine children out there instead of the Padres?”  At one point did they have to say, “We go now to the bottom of the third.  The missing children six, the Cubs nothing.”  Did the Cubs manager have to make calls to the bullpen as these youngsters feasted on Cubs pitching?  Did anyone wonder at anytime during this curious exhibition when the actual game would start?  What would happen if one of the nine kids were to be injured?  Was there another missing child somewhere that could serve as a replacement or would these kids who have built up a healthy lead of eleven runs, have to forfeit?  How horrible for them should that happen.  I just wonder how this story could be true.  Then again, it’s just a joke and yes, the worst joke ever.

Michael Jordan's latest wager - By Skip Parker

Everyone's talking Bulls!  The most exciting team since the days of Michael Jeffrey Jordan.  With that I bring you a guest blogger, Mr. Skip Parker.

There are certain things everyone knows about Michael Jordan.

He is arguably the most gifted athlete to ever participate in professional sports.

His levels of competitiveness and confidence are unmatched, on and off the court.

And Michael Jordan LOVES to gamble.

He loves to bet.  He loves to win.  That said, His Airness can’t possibly emerge victorious from what I believe is his latest wager.  He’s gambling on his ability, not as an athlete but as a pitchman, a man of influence.

Remember early in his career when Michael found himself staring down premature male pattern baldness?  This was not going to work.  Michael Jordan need only look to his own team’s bench at teammate Granville Waiters to know that certainly, that look was not going to fly.  Michael Jordan was not about to sport the Danny DeVito, the Larry David or the Mel Cooley, much less the Larry Fine,  the Anthony Geary “I think I’ll just perm it to create the illusion of fullness” or the Donald Trump “combover” that the ladies love so much.  And don’t even think about the William Shatner.  No, Michael Jordan had to truly go where no man had gone before.  Michael Jordan had to blaze his own trail.  How about this?  Thought Jordan.  I’ll just shave it all off.  Yeah, that’s it.  I want to be bald!  I like it this way.  It’s better to have no hair.  Sure, it’s been tried before, but nobody would ever call Telly Savalas, Curly Neal, or Scatman Corothers, one who sets the standard for hipness.  

Michael made the move and lo and behold, it was chic to be hairless.  Men everywhere were busting out the razors, be they balding or not.  Michael Jordan made being bald a symbol of that which is cool.

Some twenty five years later, he’s at it again.  And this time he’s taken on a Herculean task.  I’m thinking it went down something like this.  After an uninspiring round of golf or game of poker with pals, Jordan put his skills on the line.  “If I can get people to embrace baldness, I can get them to support any fashion style, just by doing it myself.  Go ahead, name it.  Anything!  “How about hot pants for men?” thought one.  Nah, Devo hats?  No.  Too easy.  How about tank tops and back hair?  Michael scoffed.  That would not even be a challenge.  “I’ve got it!”  Said Jordan.  A Hitler mustache!  I’m so influential that I can even get people to don the Nazi cookie duster.  Within days, this will sweep the nation faster than the surfing bird, and Michael Jordan will Hail the victory as they all exclaim “Sieg  Heil!” ironically transforming air Jordan, the man who redefined baldness, to “Herr Jordan.”  Perhaps a Hogan's heroes remake is in the offing, with Jordan as Col Hogan, Scottie Pippen as Newkirk, Dennis Rodman as the always wacky "Andrew Carter, Charles Barkley as Colonel Klink, and Jerry Krause as General Burkhalter.  This could be the biggest thing since the Honeymooners starring Cedric the Entertainer!  I’ve got a Hanes commercial coming up.  I’ll launch the new look there!

To Michael’s chagrin, and perhaps our relief, Michael Jordan appears to have lost this one.   Since the Hanes ads began a few months back, the Hitler Stache has not caught fire.  Perhaps it’s symbolic.  Maybe this new breed of Bull has captured our hearts and our garnered our undivided attention.  Doubtful the Joakim Noah “bun on the top” look will become a sensation anytime soon, but if suddenly Derrek Rose showed up with wooden shoes and a pointy hat, I wouldn’t be surprised to see an entire nation “go Dutch”  

And I wouldn’t bet against it.

I’m Skip Parker, and I’m just being frank

auf wiedersehen!

From the Skp Parker Archives

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hcQ4mypyIBU&feature=relmfu

Everybody Loves a Good Hell Gig!

Everybody loves a good hell gig.  They’re not particularly enjoyable to experience but when it’s over, it’s over.  You still get paid and you end up with a great story.  Great shows with terrific crowds may be good for the ego, but an evening with flannel clad lumberjack wannabes that hate you is the stuff legendary comedy tales are truly made of.  This is one of my favorites.

Wednesday night, I arrive at the Fon Du Lac, Wisconsin Holiday Inn around 7:30.  The show is scheduled 8:00.  Looks pretty much like every other one-nighter I’ve ever done.  I make my way through the lobby to the lounge by following the “Karaoke Tonight” signs.  I check in, say hello to my fellow comedian and meet the host for tonight’s festivities.  

“No we don’t usually start ‘til about nine or so.”  Says the DJ, and by DJ, I don’t mean the guy from the local radio station who passes out Leinenkugel shirts and “Get ‘er done” beer holders to the patrons who can belch the most letters of the alphabet in proper sequence without breathing.  I mean the guy who sits in the booth and pushes the button on the CD player marked “play.”  We’ll call him “Dale”  

Dale and I exchange pleasantries.  In the course of our talk, I come to find that the real reason anybody is here is for Karaoke.  

“Every Wednesday is Karaoke night.  Only we can’t get started ‘til you guys are done.” Dale also informs me that he is, in fact, a Packer fan, as if the pit-stained yellow sweater with the #4 on an embroidered cheddar wedge background didn’t provide me with my first clue to the mystery of his football preference.  

He asks me for some credits to mention in my introduction and he jots them down in his notebook.  “Could you also mention that I have a CD available?”   

“No problem.  I’ll keep them in the booth for you.”

It’s about 9:20 and we start the show.  The sea of flannel we will call an audience is pounding down their karaoke night beer specials in anticipation of the main event.  Dale hits the stage, makes a few announcements and brings up the first comedian.  We’ll call him John.  John does a commendable job of putting his head down and plowing through while they talk among themselves.  It’s not completely horrible. He’s getting through it, though the longer he stays up, the less they listen, and the more intoxicated they become.  John senses their waning interest and launches into his closing bit, a deer-hunting piece.  

A stroke of genius!  

Hit them where they live.  

He manages to leave the stage with a smattering of applause and he lives to see another day.

Dale returns to the stage and informs the unruly bunch that Karaoke time is not here yet, but if they can last through one more guy, we can get the fun started.  He introduces me, sans notebook, and forgets my name.  I hit the stage at 10:00 and I feel the room take an ugly turn.  “Hate him!  Hate him!  Hate him!”  The vibe resonates throughout karaokeland before I’ve even uttered a word.  They are not listening, but they do take an occasional moment to blurt their nonsensical musings and sarcastically scream “NO!”  in response to my rhetorical questions while on their way to drop their karaoke slips at the booth.

I select a spot on the back wall at which to stare, and deliver the rest of my soliloquy.  I exit the stage.  We all rejoice!  To a man, they hate me.  Dale takes the microphone and wraps things up: “How about a nice hand for Chris Mootay!  Chris Mootay, everybody!   Be sure to get a copy of Chris Mootay’s CD! 

Chris Mootay?  I’ve had my name butchered before, but this was the most entertaining of all.  Dale retreats to the booth and the love fest of bad singing commences.  First up, it’s Connie, with her stirring rendition of Janis Joplin’s “Me and Bobby McGee.”   Now, it’s simple.  Get paid.  Get out.  A hotel employee finds me and says, “I’ll be right with you.”  I take this moment to head over to Dale at Karaoke Central, get my CD’s, and hit the road.  “Thanks Dale, it was fun.  I just need to grab those CD’s.  Then, horror of horrors, Dale in a fit of spontaneous ass-holery, stops the music, and cuts off Janis Joplin mid song!  

“Hey everybody, it’s your last chance to get Chris Mootay’s CD!  Get the Chris Mootay CD now!  A chorus of boos ensues with increasing volume as Janis Joplin flips me the proverbial finger.  Before they can draw their hunting rifles, Dale hits the play button, thus restoring harmony.  

Just for the sheer hell of if, I asked,  “What’s my name?” 

 “Chris Mootay” he says with conviction.  I held up one of the CD’s with my name “Mike Toomey” displayed in bold letters.  After taking a beat, to absorb this new information, Dingleberry again reaches for the microphone and yes, stops the music.  “I’m sorry everybody, it’s Chris Toomey!  Last chance for the Chris Toomey CD!”   The Boos are back, only this time with much more fervor.   Dipshit re-starts the music yet again.  I need to get out, and the only way to reach the exit is to walk past the stage, right in front of Janis where I receive yet another chorus of spastic boos.  As the first song ends, I collect my money.  Singer number two takes the stage, and as she launches into yes,  “Me and Bobby McGee” (I’m not kidding) I head for the door.

On my way out, I sold one CD.