You know I love ya, right Allison? Don't be mad.

This all started months ago when a lot of the Squishites (including Pamie and Allison) did a karaoke contest at misinformer.com. The idea is you turn up your stereo, sing into the phone and they post your song on the site for people to vote on. One person will be declared the karaoke God or Goddess and the others will go home to eke out painfully wanting lives. Then people hunt you down with taunts and trash talk. It's "The Most Dangerous Game" with drum loops and synthesizers.

I didn't participate last time (don't remember why), but Allison ended up winning the contest, and she's been talking crap ever since about how she's the Queen of All That She Surveys.

Puh-lease. Girly needs to get some backup vocals. And a weave. And a hoochie mama dress so she can go on Springer and try to get back her midget pimp boyfriend.

No, not really. It's just that it's so fun to trash talk with Allison because she's really good at it and nothing fazes her.

Last week, Allison e-mailed some folks about the upcoming karaoke contest that was returning to the site. All this week, we've been talking karaoke trash over e-mail and on Pamie's forums, and I'm sure everybody must think we've gone completely stupid. I mean this is a karaoke contest, not the San Fernando Valley Karate Competition or some such Karate Kid drama.

And it's an online karaoke competition. Sung over the phone. So you know that high-quality gloss is going triple platinum.

I have really warm fuzzies about karaoke. I've been lucky enough to have great karaoke experiences with very funny, entertaining people. The first few times I did real karaoke was with the folks from the Latino Comedy Project and some people from Monk's Night Out. And then in Vegas with the MightyBigTV folks. And then it culminated in full-blown karaoke glory when Pamie did her going away shows last year and had me do Kenny Rogers' "Lady" in front of an audience.

It's hard to convey why people get so into it. It's like explaining The Rocky Horror Picture Show to someone who thinks it's dumb and pointless. If you're with the right group of people, it can be so incredibly fun that it changes your life.

Same with karaoke.

So this is some of the smack talking that went on between Allison and I when I threw down the gauntlet and hit a midget with said handwear:

 

You see how she is? Why does she gotta bring my "chicken ass" into this? What chicken ass? Don't be turning the ladies away from me, Al. If anything, I have a prominent rooster ass that the chicks can't help but get their 11 special herbs and spices all over.

Anyway, This is getting personal. (ReRe, by the way, is Aretha Franklin, she later told me.) These tirades were also being e-mailed to a bunch of people.

 

 

SMAAAACK! But it didn't end there. We accused each other of needing back-up vocalists, and other such indignities.

It dragged on until I was all ready to make peace. But then I saw this on her Web site:

 

Oh, shit.

All right, Allison. I didn't want to have to do this. But, I can be silent no longer. Last time Al was down from Dallas and we all went karaoke'ing together, I took a few pictures. Now, those that have only seen Allison online probably don't know this, but here it is. Allison. Is a MAN. Check it out:

That's Allison on the left, doing a duet of "Let's Go Crazy" with Pamie. Oh yeah, Pamie's a man, too.

So, now it's on. I spent a good portion of last night working my version of "If You Don't Know Me By Now (Abusive Ike Mix)." Go listen now. Starting Friday, you can vote for me. It sounds a little choppy because I had to do it on a cell phone. And you can't hear the music all that well (again, I blame the cell phone). Nevertheless, I deserve a swift and decisive victory over Miss Reigning Champion.

Allison is what we in the karaoke world call a "Sucka M.C." And a "Playa' Hater." In essence, she is fundamentally opposed to all true and proper Playas (Myself included). And thus, she deserves to be destroyed in the court of public karaoke opinion.

Help me in this holy crusade. Vote your heart, but more importantly, vote with your soul.

A co-worker is having a baby shower this week, so I made a trek to Babies 'R Us to go look up stuff on her registry.

First off, nothing on a baby shower registry can ever be found at a Babies 'R Us unless you have been baby shopping for months and know the difference between a hooded bath towel and a puffy bath cloth with detachable hood. I spent, no exaggeration, forty five minutes looking for one item on the list in the scant toy section.

One woman tried to help me and decided they don't even carry Tyco toys for infants. Then another lady came to help. Then another. Soon, it was a multiple-alarm baby store emergency and (again, no exaggeration), I had SEVEN people help me find this one toy, called "Hug Me Precious" or something like that. The whole store was in a tizzy. Eventually, this one guy, the one employee who looked as if he hadn't had his spirit wrecked by nervous parents asking the difference between six thousand different kinds of formulas, came back holding the toy. It turned out to be a fucking talking Pooh bear that wasn't even labeled "Tyco." It was "Hug Me Pooh," which sounds like some weird fetish video someone would e-mail you by accident.

While I was there (for about three damned hours), I watched some of the new parents. They all looked tired and grumpy. They pushed their carts wordlessly. Some of them got into little arguments, ("No, that's NOT the pacifier we need! That one's RED!") and all of the people had puffy faces, no makeup and big bags under their eyes. I kept thinking I'd see a little joy on these people's faces, but they were all weary and glum, especially when they looked at the prices of things.

On the other hand, the expectant parents were all cheery and excited and not yet crushed by the weight of parental responsibility. Fools.

It was quite the learning experience.

Think I'll wait a few decades.

 

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The Charo-inspired Self Promotion Corner