Wednesday, October 16, 2019


It's still in my head; young white people singing karaoke. Which is not a good thing, even when compared to Kahn Souphanousinphone. Boy bands, Here Comes the Rain, My Hump, and Welcome to the Hotel California.
I've had a long day, man, and I hate The Eagles. And you can just tell that these boys and girls were typical of their kind; self-satisfied, precious, and preening.
Convinced that they were somehow infinitely special. Entitled.
I would have preferred Kahn Souphanousinphone.
Or even Herbert of Swamp Castle.

It was pudgy sai lo's birthday, so in addition to the offensive kwailos there were plenty of real people there, including older brother, white fan, and grass sandal. Plus the most dangerous man in Chinatown, who is a pothead.
As well as being an idiot.

The friend with whom I go out drinking and myself are older, white, and recognized as largely harmless. And as such, we're 'okay' people.
Plus we don't sing, so that's icing on the cake.

[Beverages: mixed Fanta and Coke, Tea, hot water.]

月亮代表 .....

Several years ago I did sing there once; a lovely Mandarin song made famous by Teresa Teng, which I completely butchered, but none of them were regulars at the time, so other than my friend, no one remembers.
White people shouldn't sing. Even if they can read the words.

Did I say that we were largely harmless? That time I may have qualified as a bio-weapon by myself. Pineapple Face would have come busting out of the Nunciature in Panama City demanding to be taken into custody.

I cannot claim to have any talents in the musical department.
Neither can most of the people at the karaoke joint.
But the difference is that I know it.
They're confused.

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