Karaoke Pu**y

Tuesdays are my hip hop nights at karaoke.  Hip Hop is not a euphemism for African-American even though the crowd is mostly black. As much as I would like to get into a discussion about race and racism in today's society, I think I'll save my pontificating for a future blog entry.

Hip hop nights follow a different formula from my other karaoke gigs.  Usually, I have singer after singer requesting karaoke songs.  On hip hop night, we welcome and promote original music along with karaoke. Thanks to the advent of modern technology, it's easy for someone to bring a music file on a flash drive or their phone which I can play while the person sings or raps.  And if truth be told, Albany has got some talent!

On the poster publicizing my Tuesday night gig, it says Open Mic/Karaoke.  Now the chances of someone seeing the poster who doesn't know it's hip hop night are slim, but as I was unloading my equipment last night, a scraggly youth with a guitar and a back pack asked me if there was going to be music.  I told him there would be once I got set up, secretly hoping that he wouldn't stay. It's not that I don't appreciate guitar, and it's not that my show is Amateur Night at the Apollo where you can be booed off stage, but I didn't see anything good coming out of a performance by this kid.  Maybe I just didn't want to hear some whiny song about how his girlfriend dumped him or why he doesn't get along with his parents.  Am I stereotyping?  In any event, he didn't return.

I did, however, have some open mic contestants.  The first was a rapper who blew the crowd away.  When he was done, I told him that we award 1-5 points based on three criteria - beats, rhymes and performance. We don't actually judge performers, but I thought I would ad lib some levity as a way to compliment him.  I told him him that I could only award 14 out of a possible 15 points because his performance lacked a twerker.  I laid the blame squarely on the women in attendance who watched but didn't dance even though the rap was totally twerkable.  He was happy with my assessment, got a huge round of applause and we were all happily entertained.

Then, as I was playing some bumper music (that's the music I play in between singers), a woman approached me and asked if she could read a poem.  She thought it was an open mic poetry night but still wanted to be included.  I said, of course.

So, I called her up, shushed the crowd, and she began.  "The name of my poem is 'Pussy.'"  WHAT!?  Pussy?  She must have said "pussy" about 50 times during her poem.  If you weren't thinking about pussy when you walked in, you were now.  It was actually a pretty thoughtful poem focusing on the empowerment of women and how they shouldn't be defined solely by their pussy.  Still, she used the word a lot.

Before she was done, I had already hatched a plan.  I cued up 2 Live Crew's "Me So Horny." As soon as the poem was finished, I waited for the applause to subside and announced "I love Pussy (pregnant pause, pun intended), the Poem!  I received my requisite rolling of the eyes when everyone realized what song I was playing. I added that I really do love pussy but that the poem was great too.

You would think that would be enough about pussy for one night but I wasn't finished.  "Me love you long time."  I followed 2 Live Crew with "Tapout" by Birdman featuring Nicki Minaj who sings about her million dollar pussy.  On the mic, I admitted that Nicki Minaj has a million dollar pussy; because let's face it, if you don't have a million dollars, you ain't hittin' that. I added that if I am spending a million dollars on pussy, I'm not using a rubber.   Sid out!