Karaoke ‘Til You Chokie

We found out recently that our next-door neighbor, Mandy is a member of the same Moose Lodge that we joined a year or so ago.  Bill was helping her drain the water from her broken water heater in advance of the plumber’s visit when she mentioned going to the Moose for karaoke night later that evening.  When he told her we were also members, she invited us to join her.  So we agreed.

What we didn’t know was, not only was Thursday karaoke night, it was also Jell-O shots night.  Try to imagine a smoky room full of drunken senior citizens all trying to sing Louie Louie while tossing back shots with beer chasers.  I have to tell you, it was scary as Hell, but probably more fun than we’ve had in months and maybe years.

We set ourselves up with a single Jell-O shot each and a mug of draft beer, compliments of Mandy.  Bill and I promised each other we’d only have the one shot and under no circumstances would we try the Cherry Bomb.  We heard it was made from a cherry cordial and Ever Clear, a lethal enough combination if you’re in your twenties or thirties; it might very well do us ‘mature’ folks in, although considering we were probably the youngest people at the Lodge that night, ‘mature’ is probably an overstatement.

The evening started promptly at 7:00 and progressed from one oldies tune to another, sung by one oldie Moose after another, until an elderly gent – quite possibly a Civil War vet – got up to do his rendition of Danke Schoen.  The problem was he was almost blind – not from drinking, but really – almost blind, and he couldn’t read the words scrolling across the Karaoke screen.  So he just kept belting out, “Drunken Shame, oh my darlin’, Drunken Shame.”  It was an earnest performance even though most of it was unintelligible.  But you could tell that whatever it was he was singing was truly heartfelt, especially at the end when a tear trailed down his leathery, wrinkled cheek and he gave the microphone a passionate, slobbering kiss.

And, as if this wasn’t scary enough, a short time later, three seventy-something ladies, who were rouged and lip-sticked up like a they were doing a Bette Davis, Hush, Hush Sweet Charlotte impression, decided to perform a frightening rendition of Ain’t No River Wide Enough.  They sang all the parts – verse and chorus alike – with equal volume and enthusiasm, so the overall result was there was no Diana Ross and no Supremes – just loud, ear jarring screeching.

Bill and I could have gritted our teeth and gotten through the off-key caterwauling if it hadn’t been for the… well, I guess they were supposed to be dancing.  But it wasn’t.  It was large butts jiggling back and forth and even larger boobs flopping around and around and acres of pivoting hips and turkey-neck arms flailing and waving.  We kept waiting for one of them to fall off the small stage and crash into the table of old geezers who were seated in front of them, hooting and hollering and rooting them on.  One of the old farts was even waving a dollar bill at them!  It was not only terrifying, but one of the funniest things we’ve ever seen.

To beat the rush out of the parking lot, we left a little before 9:00, which was when the night’s festivities were scheduled to end.  Apparently two hours of Jell-O shots and singing off key is the fun and frivolity limit for the Sun City chapter of the Moose.

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