a microphone where the sun doesn’t shine

Well, if I was mad as hell about my recent experience into Novacastrian customer service, you can bet that I sure as shite have my cranky pants on now over Play Station 3 SingStar.

The past weekend saw me celebrate the occasion of Mother’s Day, or as I like to call it the “Day of Recognising The Vile Stench Of Fecundity Because One Of My Parents Couldn’t Keep Their Legs Shut”, with my family as a pseudo family farewell.

One of my siblings felt that the Grinch had ruined Christmas-gone because there was no opportunity to lube up the vocal chords and crank up the PS unit with a SingStar Abba Challenge. Yes indeed, we like to celebrate hard and fast in the Johnston household when it comes to the birth of our Lord and Saviour. So dates were set, microphones at the ready, ample supplies of alcohol purchased to loose up the stage fright.

As some of you good readers are aware, I have been known to put my foot upon the stage and entertain a crowd or two with a soothing lyrics and a turn of the feet. In fact, on occasions, I have been paid quite handsomely to do so. Some would go so far as to say that I have even been a professional at times. These people would not be aware though of my backstage temper tantrums and demands for bottles of Evian to wash my silky locks with.

So you can only imagine my surprise when that abomination of a karaoke machine spat out that I was indeed either and amateur or rising star at best. EXCUSE ME!!!!!! Sony appears to find my dulcet tones that some have admired in the past to be below their particular brand of mediocrity.

No room for personal interpretation was allowed. You either hit that note or you don’t. No place for a little trill, a dramatic slide, or a Mariah Carey-esque scat. Nope, you must sing as blandly as possible and strike the notes like a tired old metronome. I, yes I, was beaten by my rather middle aged brother-in-law who left to his uncertain feet and gyrated his way through “Don’t You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me!” That little effort scored him Lead Singer status.

Well I never!

By the time we moved on to Bohemian Rhapsody on SingStar Queen, I was vexed beyond caring, and belted out my thunder bolts and lightning very very frightening thing Galileo, enough to make Simon Cowell vomit all over Paula, who of course remains oblivious to this very day.

Shove it Sony. I’m a star! At least that’s what I am telling myself.


2 thoughts on “a microphone where the sun doesn’t shine

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