"KARAOKE GROUPIE WHORES! "
I think that's the first thing I read in my morning blog fare. "KARAOKE GROUPIE WHORES! " I reread it too. I'm a guy I was excited! Then I read it a third time, because my mind was torn in two directions. "Karaoke groupie whores?" asks the male driven side of me that's been alone for more than a year, "Where do I find me some of those? And how are they sold? By the ream? By the box?" I had no idea that they even existed."
That's when my voice of reason crossed it's arms and started tapping it's foot, "I don't want to be the one to point this out, Rob, but I'm not sure that Karaoke groupie whores are such a good idea." I'm busy flipping through the phone book hearing "Blah, blah, blah."
"Gopher...Groper...Grouper…" flip, flip, "where the heck…"
The voice sighs. "Rob come back to me for a bit. I know you've been alone for a while, but think on this. Karaoke? What kind of girl is a Karaoke groupie?"
"A Whore!"
"That's right, Rob."
"So I should look under W! Thanks, Reason!"
Reason shakes his head and sits down. I think he thinks this will be a long chat. I hate to tell him, but it's only a chat until I find whores. Then it's a monologue. W? Where is that? "S, T, U, V, W. W! Waitress, Weaver.."
"Rob, a Karaoke whore is not going to be a high caliber whore. I mean I'm not condoning The acts of Hanson Groupies from the 90's but, come on. A Karaoke groupie? What kind of woman throws herself at a guy grinding through "Sweet Child of Mine" like it's like it's last weeks unsold chuck?"
I'd reached X. No Whores in my book; they must be unlisted. Reason was starting to sink in though. Karaoke? I've seen that guy doing Axel on YouTube (so to speak, I wouldn't Google "guy doing Axel" it's not pretty) he does suck. Still, it's been so long. I sing better than he does, and when I pick the right song, I am a golden calf. I can do "Fire and Rain." Granted, not the favorite for picking up ladies, but it is melodic. Maybe I could attract a better breed of groupie—maybe a discriminating "groupie enthusiast."
Reason's reading my mind. "Rob, how long did you wait until you found MyUnwife?"
It was my turn to sigh, "A long time?"
"You were 29 when you met. Do you remember what your friends called you?'
"Lonely?"
"No."
"Scruffy Smurf?"
"Well yes, but that's not what I'm talking about. They called you 'picky.""
"Ok, but what good did it do me?"
"You were together for almost 10 years. How many of your friends lasted that long?"
"Yeah, but that's not the point, I wanted longer. Besides I'm not looking for a wife, I'm looking for the elusive Karaoke groupie whore. Should I get Marlin Perkins on the phone?"
"No Rob, that's not what you want. Not even now. What kind of quality woman would want a groupie whore groupie."
Ok, now reason has taken a left turn down an dark road and I have no idea where he's going. "Groupie, whore groupie...wha?"
Groupie whore-hater Reason starts drawing diagrams in the sand. Most of them are pictures of a donkey with the label "Rob." I've never seen a sand drawn donkey show, it's not pretty, but by the time Reason is done I understand what he's saying.
Reason is trying to draw the lines between what is right and what is wrong. We all make those distinctions in our lives, and those lines are drawn differently for all of us. Me, I'm not a groupie whore kind of guy no matter how fast I flip through the phonebook. The reality is they're there if I look hard enough, but I don't. That's some other guy. It's not who I am.
I don't say that so you can go "awww Rob." Don't get me wrong. I'm still an ass. The labeled donkey still represents me, but I'm a different kind of ass. And karaoke groupie whores just don't fit into my…well you get the idea.
So I'm no longer looking for Karaoke groupie whores, I can get on with the rest of my day. Lonely Rob is most disappointed in that information. He's cut a page from the newspaper: "Karaoke Fridays! 9pm at El Torrito!"
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