Last Fling 'fore the Ring

Last night was my sister-in-law's Bachelorette Party. It. Was. Fun.

Where to start? Too much to recount. Waaaaaay too much.

Let's flash forward to a private room at a Japanese sushi bar in a small college town. There is very loud, terribly covered music playing as I return from the ladies' room, stumbling only a little in my be-martini'd haze to find that a) everyone is eating, b) my food did not arrive, and c) in order to get back to my seat I would have to displace 2+ eating partygoers. So instead I opt to entertain everyone with my terrible karyoke to whatever the fuck song is playing. What song is that, I ask myself as I pick up a microphone.

Oh, shit.

It's Queen.

Bohemian Rhapsody.

What. The. Fuck.

Oh, those poor people. Those poor people trying to eat while I try to serenade them with one of the most difficult-to-sing rock songs ever made. One that covers the lowest of rumbling low notes with the highest of shrieking high notes.

I got compliments on it regardless. What a nice bunch of people. Seriously.

Then I sang 'La Bamba,' nailed it. I can sing that song in my sleep. Likely do, in fact. Then I sat down and ate my California Roll, as it had arrived some time in here while I was pretending I was Freddy Mercury and Los Lobos.

Snippet one.

You're welcome.