I’m cleaning house, which means I’m coming across relics of my former self. Often when rummaging through their things, people will look at old photos and question their fashion choices. That rarely happens to me because my fashion choices are always questionable.
Just your average Tuesday afternoon outfit.
However, I frequently find pieces of my writing or snippets of stories which give me pause, but none more so than what I found today in a binder from my early university days. On a piece of paper I read just two words written in my distinctive scrawl; penis karaoke. That’s it. Nothing more, no explanation, no elaboration, I’m not sure whether it was an activity, a jot note from a memory that I’ve apparently repressed or possibly an ill-conceived business venture that I’m relieved I didn’t follow through with.
Normally when I discover a piece of old writing, I can remember to a certain extent where the story or idea came from. I’m drawing a complete blank here and frankly I’m a little alarmed by my twenty year old self. First off, I’d like to know what exactly “penis karaoke” is. Does it involve some sort of nude bar with microphones that go up just past the knees? I feel like backup singers might object to standing that close in the buff. Also I’ve never heard a man’s member singing. But it’s possible I’ve never listened closely enough. Maybe mens’ locker rooms sound like a choir of angels.
Or is “penis karaoke” some sort of bachelorette party type activity where awkwardly shaped microphones are used to match the phallic pasta gag gifts? Another possibility is having to act like male genitalia while doing karaoke. Although where I would have gotten the idea to try such a thing is beyond me. My only conclusion is that I attended a job interview before penning these words where I was asked absurd questions like “If you were a species of tree, what would you be?” which would of course be followed up with this question “Do oak trees work in teams?”. The only logical answer is of course; oak trees work with others about as well as penises sing.
Whatever “penis karaoke” was, it makes my old workout instructions which I found in the same pile, that have descriptors like “Do twenty five push up Frankensteins” and “Perch uncomfortably on the weird over the head machine fifteen times” look positively tame. Although further cleaning didn’t turn up any answers regarding bizarre types of karaoke, upon rereading my descriptions of fitness exercises, I concluded that I may be the reason why I no longer go to the gym.
The Great Unwashed 