The first idea I would like to establish is that I do not like Karaoke.  Not only do I avoid participation (evasively, or even aggressively, at times), but I also avoid its spectacle whenever possible.  My small handful of Karaoke attendances and performances over the years have been incited by only the grimmest of ultimatums: 'I'm too lonely to stay in this tiny room in my parents' basement for another minute... But all my friends are at Karaoke Night,' or, 'I hate myself so much that I should force myself into suffering through Karaoke night.  Anyway, I'm tired of crying through my eyeliner and cutting myself with the sharp end of this guitar string.'

On these sad occasions, before the glare of a singalong video prompter and a wall of dead, drunk eyes with skeleton smiles, only one of three songs would ever meet my lips.

1. A disheveled dramatization of Billy Joel's 'Piano Man' with the inflected snottiness of a young Johnny Rotten and a touch of masturbatory angst a la Bright Eyes.

2. A stoic and loyally unimaginative rendition of 'Sunday Morning Coming Down' by Johnny Cash.

3. A clownish, crotch-grabbing b-boy spin on Tone Loc's 'Wild Thing'. 

People often pit pride against shame as its polar opposite.  I disagree and assert that there is rather a fine line dividing them, provincially, like warring neighbors: Shame sends its spies to pry upon Pride; Pride's corrupt internal agents sell 'weapons' and intelligence to Shame via rogue, back-alley deals.  Drunken arms bartering in the brothels of the soul!

The proud shame afforded by a Karaoke performance is like being rolled in shit and money – No amount of soap and hot water can ever make you feel clean, but you just want to keep stuffing your pockets!

In the showers of our psyches are soaking, naked men and women shamelessly chanting the songs of our deepest, truest colors. These candid voices, once guarded and personal, have now been socially approved for public display on a makeshift stage at almost any bar in America!  These Karaoke nights are the support groups of our shameful singing masturbation habit; a place where someone can earnestly look you in the eye and say, "It's OK.  I do it, too.  We all do it!"  And these Karaoke nights are the fight clubs of our shared shame that tell us (via peer pressure), "If this is your first time at Karaoke night, you have to sing!"

Well, if I could borrow one more rule from Fight Club, it would be the rule where someone could collapse on the floor halfway through the night and yell "STOP!" and everyone would just... Stop.

- Evan Exempt