My friends Loki, Morgan, and I arrived at the karaoke bar around 7pm, where Skeezy McLimpsalot (all names have been changed slightly) appeared out of nowhere. He had met Loki and Morgan at previous karaoke nights and introduced himself to me.
We were starved. Skeezy told us that the kitchen wasn’t open, but there was karaoke and food at a bar/restaurant around the corner. We thanked him and turned to leave as he shouted, “One sec, I’ll grab my stuff!”
So Skeezy invited himself along to have dinner with us. While he seemed very nice (if socially inept), people who can best be described as “nice” do not usually interest me terribly. Also, the more I drink, the less “nice” I get, particularly when I’m in a mood like I was last night. I wouldn’t call it a “bad” mood — it’s just this funk I get in that usually results in nights of debauchery and tremendous amounts of vomiting. As a side note which may or may not help one better understand “the mood,” all I had eaten that day were about six brownies.
Everything you need to know about Skeezy can be learnt from his business card. On it, he has written that he is a professional singer; only, “professional” is written on top of White-out and if you scratch it off, underneath it says “amateur.” Also, the card notes he is a “conservative political activist.” Either this means that he campaigns for conservative causes (perhaps tax reform or anti-gay marriage?) or else it means that he does some sort of political campaigning, but he doesn’t go overboard with it. Maybe he and his other activist friends are all holding signs outside the White House. He’s having a good time, when someone suggests they moon the President. “Whoa whoa,” says Skeezy. “Let’s not get crazy, here.”
I spent the first 30 minutes of dinner successfully ignoring poor conservative professional/amateur singer Skeezy before he finally made a brave attempt to strike up a conversation by asking about the (fashionably) gaudy pendant necklace I was wearing. He asked if it had any kind of symbolic meaning. It cost $2 on sale at H&M, so to me it is symbolic of my ability to score cheap deals. However, I told him it was a symbol for my religion. He probed further, and I told him I was Zoroastroarianian. I later switched to the slightly less incorrect term “Zoroastrian.” Some things I recall saying:
- Christianity stole all the good stuff from us (this is true)
- I can’t have sex before marriage (pretty sure this is true)
- I can only marry other Zoroastrians (this is true for the traditional church)
- You can’t convert to Zoroastrianism, you have to be born into it (ditto)
- We wear special underpants like the Mormons, only ours have padlocks on them (to the best of my knowledge, this is not at all true)
I really had him convinced. At that point, I was fairly certain Skeezy would never want to talk to me again and frankly, who could blame him? I went on to drink my weight in Harpoon (and multiple shots of something called a “Red-Headed Slut” courtesy of the DJ who was obviously impressed with our rendition of Salt-n-Pepa’s “Shoop” [I believe I was Pepa]) before we all left the bar. Skeezy disappeared as my friends and I walked back to the car. Somewhere along the way, apparently I climbed on a large fiberglass cow.
I received this e-mail approximately six hours after throwing up all my food and passing out at home in bed:
Sent: Friday, June 16, 2006 8:48 AM
Subject: FW: : Hello It’s Skeezy
Have you ever made sweet love to a Professional Amateur Singer/Conservative Political Activist before? ________________________________________
Sent: Friday, June 16, 2006 7:53 AM
Subject: : Hello It’s Skeezy
Nice seeing you again & Morgan? Rebecca’s cute.
I guess I picked the wrong religion. Maybe Scientology will scare him away at the next karaoke night.