Well, we had our first annual karaoke night at the Silver Fish last week an’ ta be honest, it was kinda crap. Fer starters, the party supply company totally botched up the order. I had asked them for balloons and streamers an’ a banner an shit for a karaoke night, right? The balloons an’ banner were gonna have musical notes or say karaoke night or some sorta shit like that. Well, they gave me the balloons an’ banner an’ stuff, except instead of it being for our karaoke night, it was all stuff meant to be for some dude’s funeral.
I didn’t even notice it until I got to the Silver Fish an’ we started to put up the decorations. I blew up one a the balloons an Ernie shouts out “What the fuck?”

“Huh?”

“Look at your balloon. Take a look at what it says.”

I turn the balloon around so that the letterin’s facing me. ‘Sorry for your Loss’ it says.

“What the fuck?!”

Ernie blows up another balloon. This one says ‘Our Deepest Condolences.’ One a the old geezers sitting at the bar start laughing.

Ernie lets go a the balloon an’ an it lets off this screechy fart as it flys across the bar. He shakes his head an’ looks at his watch. “We’re opening in an hour. You better straighten things out wit’ those tossers.”

So I get all the stuff and run back over to the party suppliers. I slam the shit on the counter an’ this kid working the till looks at me indifferently.

“What the hell, man,” I says. “These are for a funeral.”
“Aye, so?”

“We’re having a karaoke party tonight.”

“Cool, can I come?”

“No, I mean this stuff is supposed to be for a karaoke party, not a funeral.”

The kid yawns. He’s got a large zit on his chin. It’s bright red with a yellowy- white centre filled with puss. I’ve got an urge to reach over an squeeze it until it bursts. Finally he calls his manager over – this fat broad with a pierced nose – an tells her what’s going on. She asks if I’ve got a receipt. I don’t.

“Aye,” she says. “Ah’m very sorry, sir, but there’s no much we can do. We’ve got a no refund policy, an’ it’s too late for us to re-do your order.”

“Ahh fuck,” I say. “what the hell am I gonna now?”

“Well, we’ve got this cake for ye. It’s supposed to be part o oor funeral package, so it’s yers if you’d like?”She brings out this cake in the shape of a coffin. Its covered in white frosting with pink trim an’ letters on top. It says ‘Deepest Sympathies in Your Time of Loss.’

*************

A couple hours later, the decorations are up an people start filtering in. It’s regulars for the most part; they don’t say nothing ‘bout the balloons; probably don’t even notice ‘em. We joined a coupla tables together for the snacks an’ cake. I licked the letterin’ off the cake an’ took a coupla bites so it wouldn’t look too coffin-y. Not a bad tasting cake – strawberries an’ rhubarb, I think. Nobody else is touched it though.

I’ve got a table near the stage, waiting for Joe an’ my sister to show up. I’ve got a pint a Stella an’ finishing off a curry from the takeaway across the street. I’ve also got a paper plate filled with crisps an’ stuff from the snack table. I’m tryin’ hard not to get any food on my glittery shirt ‘cos I wanna look as good as possible for my stage debut tonight.

Ned an a bunch a his pals come in. They’re all wearin’ matching shell suits – white with powder blue trim. One a them’s got a Rangers cap pushed back to the back of his head. Ned’s wearing a cap, too, ‘cept his is a red and green New York Yankees cap. He looks over at me an waives. “A’wright, Brad,” he says. I nod and waive back. They carry a bunch a stuff with them an Ernie tells ‘em to put the stuff in the store room, probably the prizes they’re giving away tonight.

A few more people come in but they ain’t regulars. Some of ‘em I don’t even recognize. That’s good, ‘cos it means more people an’ Ernie won’t have to shut the pub down. Still no hot chicks yet.

One guy I’ve never seen before comes in. He’s kinda small an’ intense lookin’ in that weird lookin’ way. He goes to the bar an orders a glass a water of all things then takes a seat by himself at the table directly behind me. I nod an’ say ‘hi’ to him but he just ignores me. What a asshole, huh?

Finally my sister an’ her husband Joe come in. They’re standin’ in the doorway lookin’ around. My sister’s got her hand covered over her mouth an nose. Joe frowns, then he sniffs an’ scrunches up his nose. He says something to my sister but they’re too far away for me to make out what they’re saying.

“Joe! Margaret! Over here!” I shout. I stand up an’ waive my arms hoping they’ll see me. After a coupla seconds they do an make their way over to the table. “Aw man, I’m glad you guys could make it. Listen, can I get you a drink – a beer or something? There’s snacks over on that table over there. You want me to get you some snacks? Some crisps or something?”

Joe pulls the seat out for my sister an she sits down. “Christ, what’s that smell?” he asks. “Smells like someone spilt a septic tank in here.”

“What smell? Can I get you a drink or something?”

“It smells like….ah, never mind.”

I shrug my shoulders an’ ask them again if they something to drink. Joe orders a bottle of Miller. My sister don’t order anything- says she’ll wait awhile.

I go to the bar to get Joe an’ me some drinks. When I come back the go out an’ a spotlight shines on the stage. Everybody shuts up as Ernie makes his way to the stage. He picks up the microphone and coughs loudly into hit.

“H’llo everyone,” he says. “Welcome to th’ Silver Fish’s First Ever Annual Karaoke Night.” A buncha people start hootin’ an’ hollerin.’ On a Ned’s gang whistles loudly. Ernie yells at everyone to shut th’ hell up. After it quiets down he starts talking again.

“Uh, I’m Ernie, an’ I’ll be yer MC tonight. First I want te thank ye fer comin;’ I’m glad youse could all make it. Anyway, let’s get the show on the road an’ bring out oor first singer – Tam McDonald. Let’s gie a big hand fer Tam, everyone.”

Everyone starts clappin’ an’ shit; as one a the two old geezers that always sit at the end a the bar makes his way to the stage. Tam’s dressed in his usual grey, woollen flat cap an’ a dirty, yellow cardigan. I can smell his piss an’ old man smell all the way from here. He starts singin’ some Justin Timberlake song.

“A’hm bringin’ sex-y ba-uck…them uthoor bhoys don’ know how t’ act,” he warbles. “Doorty bab-ee, you see these shack-les, bab-ee, A’hm yoor slaa-vve.”

He starts dancing, doing some crazy old man moves. Not bad for a dude who just celebrated his 81st birthday last week. Then he grabs his crotch an’ starts gyratin’ an’ thrustin’ his hips. I look over an see my sister an her mouth is hangin’ wide open ‘cos she can’t believe what a great singer this old guy is. Joe’s impressed, too, I can tell. His face is all red an he’s grindin’ his teeth an’ shit. He’s lookin’ at me like he’s kinda pissed off, like –‘why didn’t you tell me before that this place was so cool? The last 38 years of my life have been a waste.’

Tam’s still doing that sexy dance of his. “Git yooor sex-y ooot,” he sings. Then he thrusts his hips out again. “A’hm bringin’ sex-y baaa….Ahhhhgg! ma’ BACK!”

The music stops and he puts both hands on his lower back an’ stoops over. “Ma’ back! Ma’ fuckin’ back! It’s goone oot!” he shouts. Ernie an’ the other old geezer come onto the stage to help him off. When he’s safely escorted from the stage, Ernie turns back to the microphone.

“Well that was Tam McDonald, everyone let’s gie Tam another roond a applause,” he says. Everyone starts clapping again. When the noise dies down Ernie introduces the next act.

Ned an’ his crew rush to the stage. Ned starts rappin’ to MC Hammer’s “You Can’t Touch This,” while his pals are dancing behind him, busting out these crazy break dance moves. They ain’t bad. Everybody in the joint’s clappin’ along, even Joe an’ my sister. I brush the front a ma shiny shirt. If they like this, then they’re gonna totally looove me.

A couple a more people come on. Doris sings “You Are the Music In Me,” from ‘High School Musical.’ Her voice is alright, but she screws up the lyrics a couplea times which pisses me off. She’s no Troy or Gabriella. Tam’s pal, Frank, gets up an’ sings a Frank Sinatra tune. An some other broad gets up an struggles through that Nickelback tune that’s so big right now…something ‘bout playing baseball in a bathroom, or something. There’s some good acts but so far none a them hold a candle to what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna win this thing hands down.

Ernie decides to get in on the action an sings the Ronnie James Dio classic “Holy Diver.” He’s pretty good, but he can’t quite reach those high notes. When he finishes, everyone claps and whistles.

“Thanks everyone,” he says. “Now this next performer is gonna sing something really special. It’s a song that’s got to do with one a my favourite drinks an’ favourite ice cream flavours, as well.”

...This is it, I think, now it’s my turn to shine.

“Singin’ the ‘Pina Colada Song’…please give a warm hand for…..”

yessss.

“Mr. Walter Lattel.”

WHAT!!! Who the fuck is Walter Lattel?!?

***********

A spotlight follows a guy onto the stage an’ it’s the guy I saw earlier, that weirdo that came in an’ ordered a glass of water. He takes to the stage wearin’ a heavy trenchcoat, like some he’s some kinda fag or something.

There’s a moment a silence after the applause dies down an the guy stands there with his eyes closed. Then the opening chords play. He starts bobbin his head and swaying to the rhythm.
Then he starts singing:

"I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long.
Like a worn-out recording, of a favorite song.
So while she lay there sleeping, I read the paper in bed.
And in the personals column, there was this letter I read"

I look around an’ notice the audience is completely entranced by this guy. No one’s saying anything; they’re all just staring at him, bobbing their heads in time with the music. Then when he gets to first chorus he suddenly rips off his trenchcoat an’ flings it into the audience. Underneath he’s wearing a suit, made out a the same sparkly stuff as my shirt, except it’s his entire suit that’s sparkly.

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."

The whole place just goes nuts. Fuck! What a asshole this guy is. First he steals my song. Now he’s stealing my wardrobe. Can you believe it?

After a couplea more verses, the guy stops singin’ and the music gets turned down real low. He looks up like he’s in deep thought , then he says:

“Friends, I gotta tell you…y’know, every relationship, every marriage, every friendship has it’s ups and downs. When you’ve been in a relationship for a long time, it’s natural to get bored from time to time. You start thinking ‘gee, maybe I don’t need to put my cock in the same goddamn vagina for the rest of my life. Maybe there is some one better out there for me; someone sexier; someone smarter; someone who’s better in bed; someone who doesn’t bore me with the minutia of their shitty, boring-ass post office job every night when all I want to do is just chill out, have a beer and watch CSI; someone who won’t make me feel obligated to down an entire six pack in half an hour when I come home from work, just so I can resist the urge to cut the bitch’s head off and stuff it in a bowling ball bag.’ Sometimes you just want some who will just shut…the…fuck..up.

“Well, I’m here to tell ya, appreciate what you’ve got. Love you’re woman. Cherish her, man; cherish your lady. Let her know just how special she is. Because I’m telling ya if you’re thinking that you’re getting tired of her, you can be damn sure she’s thinking the same thing. And while you’re thinking about putting that personal ad on the sly, you can be damn sure that she’s already placed a personal of her own. And unlike the narrator of this song, it won’t be you that she ends up inadvertently hooking up with. It will be somebody else; probably Jason, that son of a bitch that came out to repair your washing machine last month. That bitch,….y’see him an’ her? They’ll run off together, right under your nose, too. And you? You’ll end up living all alone; eating cold hot dogs from a tin with stale bread and mayonnaise for breakfast every morning; sleeping by yourself in semen-and-tear stained sheets every night…for the REST OF YOUR LIFE!

“So take it from me, the next time you feel like getting some on the side, drink a pina colada instead. Seriously, drink a pina colada and just sing this song:”

"If you like Pina Coladas, and getting caught in the rain.
If you're not into yoga, if you have half-a-brain.
If you like making love at midnight, in the dunes of the cape.
I'm the lady you've looked for, write to me, and escape."

The music gets louder an’ everybody’s smilin’ an’ shouting out the chorus back to him, an he’s just standing there with this smug look on his face. I don’t believe it. What a cock sucker.

When the song ends he walks off stage an’ everybody jumps to their feet and claps and whistles. The roar a applause seems like it ain’t ever gonna end. A couple minutes go by an’ whistlin’ and stompin’ their feet. He comes back onto the stage an’ waives at the crowd. “Thank you everyone, I wish I could just hug you all! Free Tibet!” he shouts an’ bounces off the stage.

The place goes nuts. Shit, there’s no way I’m gonna be able to follow that kinda act.

Finally the applause dies down an’ Ernie comes back on stage. There’s a couple a people still shouting for Walter Lattel, but Ernie just tells ‘em ta shut the fuck up.

“Aw’right, now, let’s bring on oor final act for the night. He’s a good friend a’ mine an’ we all know him well. Please gie it up for my mate, Brad Hasselbrook!”

I hear a couple a people clap as I make my way to the stage. I don’t know what the fuck I’m gonna do. That Walter guy stole my act. There’s no way I can sing ‘Escape (the Pina Colada Song)’ after he just sang it. I stand in front a the microphone an’ it’s total silence. I can’t really see the audience too good cause there’s a spotlight shinin’ directly inta ma eyes. I stand there for a good coupla seconds wondering what to do.

“Sing something, ya twat,” I hear someone shout, it sounds like Joe.

Fuck, what the hell am I gonna do? Ma minds a total blank. Think, Brad, think. I try ta think of another song, any song, but I’m struggling. Finally something comes to me. I cough to clear my throat an’ singing.

‘And we can build this thing together, stand in stone forever, nothing's gonna stop us now….’