KARAOKEEEEEEEE. Seriously. Karaoke fuck. Seriously. No but seriously. Karaoke.

Seriously though. Karaoke.

I fucking love Karaoke. I can hardly claim that I’m a good singer. But I love the fuck out of doing it. So that doesn’t matter. Because karaoke exists. And I fucking love karaoke. In case I haven’t mentioned that.

So I’m pretty sure it’s obvious this is gonna be about karaoke. WELL FUCK YOU. I don’t play the obvious. The obvious can suck me off and spit in your face.


Jesus. I’m so sorry for that. Just imagine I’m backspacing over that sentence. Or don’t. If like….you swing that way. Or whatever.

So friday night a big group of us head out for a karaoke night. Remicks, of late, has become extremely acquainted with a group of Asians. He’s been working at Blowfish’s restaurant for a while, so he’s become the white friend that accompanies them to all the Asian events. And apparently they do karaoke like it’s a religion.

And a fun little tidbit. They make him rap Eminem while they drink. So he’s like their white entertainment. And this is according to Remicks himself.

So the place that Remicks takes us to is in the heart of Chinatown in Montreal. And it is fucking NOTHING like we expected. I don’t even know what the fuck we expected. The place is a private karaoke joint. You rent out sick ass rooms and sing your fucking hearts out with your friends while drinking your life away.

This we expected.

But when we get there, from the outside, it looked like nothing. Walking down this random ass street, you’d have no idea there’s a fucking karaoke place. And when we walk in the door, it’s like the inside of a fucking strip mall. All these shops boarded up and rather ghetto. I was genuinely concerned I just walked onto the fucking Walking Dead.

So we’re standing there. Grunting and moaning. Eating the shopkeepers and whatnot. You know how it is.

We hear this terrible drone of singing drift up from downstairs. There’s this creepy ass stairwell in the middle of the area, and it turns out, the karaoke place is down this staircase. Still no fucking sign though. But whatever.

So we head down and the place turns from beatdown Chinese strip mall to this fucking lit up karaoke joint. It was so well camouflaged we couldn’t fucking believe it was even there. And as soon as we walk down, we’re already in the minority. I got this feeling the place isn’t used to big groups of non Asians. And we were fucking 20 people give or take.

So we get to our room all the way in the back. A lot of us are already in there. And the singing gets started. We order a shit fuck ton of alcohol. Rum and beer and some kinda high fucking class whiskey or whatever that Remicks wanted us to drink. And everybody starts to get fucking loaded.

Remicks becomes the intense guy that he is. Well. Fuck that. He’s already that intense guy. He didn’t just fucking stop before this point of the story. But he’s screaming at everyone, trying to get the group to pay the fuck attention. His goal is to school us in the ways of the Asian dice games that have gotten him so fucked up on a number of occasions.


Yeah it didn’t work. To Remicks complete disappointment.

But by this time. Our buddy Yams has already started his raping of the karaoke machine. And everyone else was soon to follow. But Yams. This fucking guy is the motherfucking MVP of the fucking night. All night this motherfucker sung his life away. Rapping, singing, fucking dancing or what the fuck ever. He wrecked it. Made that shit his bitch.

FlipSide and I end up having to break our seals rather early. So we find our way to the washroom. And there’s a line for the urinals. So we’re standing there for a couple minutes and new Asian dudes keep coming in and going in front of us. And I’m gonna throw it all out there, we were very intimidated. Some of these guys were rather intense. Some Yakuza fucking Triad type of shit. Which I could totally be entirely wrong about. But. You know. Fuck danger.

We stood there, both contemplating what step to take. We looked at each other with questioning looks.

FlipSide: Yaaaaaaa. Wanna go piss outside?

Rooster: Fuck yea I do.

So we peaced the fuck out. Went into the freezing cold, no coats, and pissed in the street.

So the booze is dwindling down quite quickly. Bitches be running wild and fucking hoes.

That’s not true. But. That alcohol gut fucking DRANK. But to my utter fucking dismay. After a couple rum and cokes, I realized tonight is not gonna be a drinking night for me. One of those fucking nights that the booze makes you feel sick before you’re even fucking drunk. Which blows whale ass. And whales don’t enjoy that shit. So that’s fucking dangerous. And there’s fucking danger everywhere.

So I stop drinking and start working the machine. Throwing song after song into the cue. And the setlist at this place is not good. One of the worst group of fucking options I’ve seen. But I threw all that shit in there anyways and the fucking entire group benefited. All the random music coming on couldn’t have been better for the atmosphere.

But it wasn’t working for me. Fucking shit fuck fucking fuck fuck fuck. Not being drunk was not resonating with my loveable self. And something had to be done.

And what’s the best remedy? Let’s get fucking hiiiiiiiigh.

I came prepared. With a nice dub ready to send us to the fucking clouds. And it turns out, I wasn’t alone in this thought. Another bro you haven’t been introduced to yet, Suffix, the beautiful mind he is, also had a joint handy. So we grab some of the usuals and head upstairs, Hurley, Aces, Remicks, Mars. Spark some cigars and cigarettes and get the joints doing their rounds. Some of us smoking outside, some inside. Because we’re cool like that.

That’s not true. It’s cause we’re allowed. At this place they allow smoking indoors. So keep that in mind as this story progresses.

So like I said. I wasn’t able to get drunk. But, fortunately for me, the ganja. Oh the ganja changed that. I didn’t have to be drunk. I was tipsy enough for the pot to fucking boost my shit into outer fucking space.

After this little session, we stormed back into that place like a fucking stampede. Aces was drunker than me before we smoked, and he ran in fucking yelling and hit one of the closed up shops at full speed. And we weren’t far behind. We fucking careened around the corner of the staircase and fucking sprinted down into that place. And it was obvious to the slowly increasing number of patrons, that we were becoming outrageous. Conspicuous. Super fucking explosive obnoxious, if you will.

And from this point on, shit went bananas. This fucking room was like a giant benefit concert. FUCKING EVERYONE was singing. And Yams was at the fucking head of the fucking herd.

Yams the MVP. Massive Vagina Prince.

Close behind him were Remicks and Suffix. Those guys were so into it it was inspirational. And it fed the fucking souls of everyone else there. Everyone became so into the Karaoke. And the best example. Survivor. By Destiny’s Child.

That loud deep voice you hear above all. That’s Remicks. And he can sing my pants off.

And that wasn’t the end of it. Fucking Akon and Eminem were there. The Beatles made an appearance. Our buddy CAB fucking owned the shit out of Deep Purple. The Backstreet Boys, obviously. What’s karaoke without the fucking Backstreet Boys?

And while all this is happening everyone’s fucking drinking their faces to the floor. People are smoking fucking everywhere. When we would go from our room into the hall outside it had become fucking PACKED. Asians everywhere. Along with the occasional honkie like us. Smoking up a storm. It was like a fucking tobacco hotbox.

Going into the hall was like walking into a fucking club. The contrast was incredulous.

And this entire time. I’m fucking HIGH. Fucking blasted to shit. I’m in the room while everyone’s singing their voices hoarse, screaming and getting in peoples faces. And I get the urge to do MY fucking karaoke.

Those of you who know me, know what I’m talking about. I can fucking scream. And I love it. And in small quantities it’s fucking great. But that night. I put fucking 5 Linkin Park songs in a row. Screaming my fucking life out. One Step Closer comes on and I’m so fucking into it it’s like nobody’s even in the room with me.


I was ready to fucking go again, when Remicks comes up to me.

Remicks: Dude. Rooster man. You gotta stop.

So I put on The Kill by 30 Seconds to Mars. And SCREAM the shit out of it.

So from here things go at a steady pace. You’ve got the picture basically. Crazy fucking night.

And I’m sitting with Mars and CAB, and Mars is taking photos of them with her camera. I’m not paying much attention. I dunno what the fuck was happening in my mind. But she gets my attention. Screaming.


And she proceeds to show me a picture. This picture. Is the fucking picture. To master all fucking pictures. And in my state of mind. I couldn’t even handle it. It fucked my face and smacked it against the kitchen sink.


So the night’s coming close to an end. And Remicks, somehow, has managed to get some motherfuckers CULTURED.

He’s got the dice game going with Aces, FlipSide, and TBG. And if you think they’re fucked before this game. FUCK THAT. I don’t know how the game works, but those guys got goddamned cultured. Whatever the fuck that means.

As a couple of us are leaving to go catch a cab, Aces comes over. And he is fucking PLASTERED.

Aces: Roosterrrrr. Whyyyy are you guys leavving??? COME ON MAN. I’M SAD.

Rooster: We gotta go man.

Aces: Fucking stay man. It’s only 3 man! Come onnnnnnn.

Rooster: Dude I’m fucking dead. I wanna go home. I want to.

Aces: You don’t have to be a fucking dick.

It was intense. And fucking hilarious. And I’m told his level of drunkenness progressed to the point of being fucking sick. And on the ride home, sick ass Aces fucking pulls out a Samuel Adams in the fucking car. Fucking joker.

On top of this, on our way out of this place. The funniest cab fucking moment ever occurred. We’re stumbling onto a random street. And this cab is driving towards us, so we flag it down.

But I realize that on the top, it doesn’t have a taxi sign. Is has this lit up advertisement for lawyers or some shit. And this fucks me up. And I stop.

Rooster: Wait. Is this even a fucking cab?

The cab driver gets out and I’m still hesitating. I swear to fucking Eugene Levy, I was so confused, I thought this was a fucking lawyer car. I thought this guy was getting out to offer us lawyer services. That was my train of fucking thought.

Rooster: Wait. Wait guys. I think he’s a lawyer. I don’t think it’s a cab.

And while this is happening the cab driver is opening the door for us and getting ready to let us in. And my train of thought makes CAB think with me.

CAB: HEY. Hey is this a cab?

Driver: What?

CAB: Is this a cab? It says lawyers on the top.

Driver: Of course this is a cab. That’s just advertising.

I was fucking DYING. I couldn’t even get in the car I was laughing so hard. And the cab driver. Oh man the cab driver. He looked at us like we were fucking assholes. Fucking dumb pieces of shit. And obviously. He’s kinda right.

Oh. And just as a final note. Great night. Fucking AMAZING memory. Super beast time. But. One problem. Everyone had to go and fucking sing Call Me Maybe.

FUCK CALL ME MAYBE. Seriously. Fuck that fucking song. It is the downfall of the entire fucking universe.