The Shame of it All

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I suppose there’s no use attempting to hide the humiliation of our street.  Just this evening, our neighbor Eric (the one that the head of our home owners association tried to imply was connected to the mafia, not the other one) was hosting a rocking xmas party.  In the twenty years we’ve owned this house, R man and I redecorated two bathrooms and the kitchen; Eric installed a hot tub and a keg dispenser.  PAH TAY.  It would be just like a frat house if only there were a few humpy, sexually curious frat boys.  No such luck.

fratpad_random-hotties12

frat action

But tonight we plumbed depths I never thought such a quiet, respectable street would know.  As I was floating in my bath, trying to think of way to remind myself to block a Facebook lowlife when I’m dry, I heard Eric crank up…, well, there is no other way to say it, a KARAOKE machine.

I know, I know, how will we residents hold our heads up at the grocery store?  It’s one thing to have a mafioso down the block (in fact, I can see how it might be handy,) but to have the machine that led to the zombie-like, undying path of “Afternoon Delight”?

I actually have no idea what the guests were taking a crack at.  It certainly didn’t resemble any tune I’m familiar with.  And of course, it has to be a fancy one replete with special effects that make your voice sound like it’s coming through the Flock of Seagulls’  synthesizer.  Or maybe that’s what the chick who was taking her turn actually sounds like.  If so, it would explain her enthusiasm.  This is probably the only time anyone will ever let her warbling out.

There is only one answer.  I have to sell this house and do so PDQ, before word gets out just what kind of neighbors comes with it.  Damn.

Playgirl Centerfolds of the 70s and 80s: the Karaoke of Porn

 

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

23 responses »

  1. Well, thank heavens that the high-minded widows (of all sexes) who so ruthlessly oversee the Board of Our Little Condo wouldn’t put up with such nonsense. One of the newer residents, earlier this fall, hosted a Quinceanera in the Community Party Room, and I can tell you that the second it got raucous, those lades Shut. it. Down.

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  2. With any luck, the Karaoke machine is a seasonal frippery that will be gathering dust in the new Year. Although, if Eric is still using the hot tub and bar, maybe you would be better off moving?

    In other news: October is pointing at me. Rude! (I think I’m in, there…)

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    • I certainly wouldn’t mind some myself. The young man in the top picture on the left end of the couch, for instance. Certainly, his sofa neighbor seems to like what he’s seeing.

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  3. Perhaps if a group or neighbors went over and told him about the noise together he might be responsive. I find around here the frat houses have no idea they are annoying the hell out of everyone. Once they find out they behave better for the most part. If that doesn’t work have him whacked.

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  4. This may call for drastic measures. Carmela Soprano would know just what to do, but you could try an impromptu garden party with music to counter his karaoke machine. For example, Ravel’s “Bolero” or Handel’s Water Music might do. I’ve used the soundtrack to “The Terminator” and the theme song to “The Patty Duke Show” on obnoxious neighbors with some success…

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  5. I have been to a few karaoke parties. Mostly for the food. If there’s good food, I’m there. The most surprising thing about the karaoke parties I’ve been to are the Filipinos and other foreigners who speak with a heavy accent suddenly sound clear and fabulous when they sing–like Celine Dion does. And for some reason, they all like to sing Whitney Houston’s I will always love you.

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  6. ♫ I’m nothing special in fact I’m a bit of a whore ♫ I’ve been know to reduce people to tears with my touching renditions.

    To quote Patsy Stone’s sleazy old boyfriend ‘avoid the Jacuzzi, it’s a smoothie of old sperm’.

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