I hate karaoke. There, I said it.
(Just lost 15 friends.)
I hate this popular activity because I always end up being dragged to these horrible establishments by ringers who pretend like they aren't good singers, but happen to be fantastic, and who then pretend like they've stumbled on a great song, when they've really been singing the song in question at karaoke parties for years, as well as at multiple high school talent shows and during that four-year a cappella stint.
(Just lost three really close friends.)
When it comes to the act of karaoke, in addition to being the Urkel on my team (thus causing my wins to always be low), I've always lacked a hero. I've never had someone to look up to, someone who is equally bad at things but somehow finds a way to come out on top. Thanks to Sir Charles Barkley and his act of valor at Lucky B's in Raleigh, North Carolina, by way of "End of the Road" featuring a portion of Boyz II Men, I finally have the courage to be myself.
After years of negative confidence, I can finally go to a karaoke party, snatch the microphone from my stupid friends that have perfect pitch and unbelievable talents at making the opposite sex swoon, and do a two-hour set comprised of Adele's 21 in full, along with assorted hits from D'Angelo's back catalog, all while the talented who have ruined countless Friday nights of my life sit and watch.
AND THEY WILL SWOON. AND IT SHALL BE GREAT.
(I have no friends left.)