She’s 350 Pounds of Domestic Violence and Burnt Currency

Karaoke last night. I attended with Moe, Jenn, and Samantha at our usual spot.

We always end up seating ourselves at a specific table, right behind another table that’s always occupied by a man who may or may not be developmentally disabled. He’s in his late fifties, at least, and always sings “Best of Both Worlds” by Hannah Montana. He also sings some other song by Kelly Clarkson, but who cares, the important thing is that he sings a goddamn Hannah Montana song every week and makes sure to specifically direct certain lyrics at our friend Moe.

Tonight, we found out he has a woman. And what a woman!

His woman weighed in excess of 350 pounds. To say she was drunk when we got there would be an understatement. Literally the moment we sat down, she was yelling at him to buy her a drink. “I’ve already spent 89 dollars on you,” he replied. “You can buy your own drink.”

Where this man gets $89 to spend on a 350 pound woman, and what he spent it on, remains a mystery.

His woman was not satisfied. “I’m a lady,” she said. “And you buy ladies drinks!”

He eventually gave in and bought her a drink. We thought a crisis had been averted, however it was obvious from this point forward that the 350-pound woman (whom for the sake of humor and anonymity we shall refer to as “Triceratops”) was going to be trouble. As the night wore on, we saw several arguments and slaps to the back of this poor guy’s head. Additionally, the karaoke host pointed out that Sugar Daddy had several scratches on his face and, most notably, on his arm.

As the evening wore on, things only got worse. Moe went up to sing “Walk Like an Egyptian” with Jenn providing the interpretive dance. The woman loved Moe’s song choice, and decided she would eclipse their performance. And I do mean she eclipsed it, since she got directly in front of them and blocked mine and Sam’s view of our two friends. Apparently she was also trying to tell Moe exactly what she should and shouldn’t be doing during the performance, and asked her to “sing it like she meant it.” Sage advice for somebody singing Walk Like a fucking Egyptian.

Fifteen minutes passed and for some strange reason, she lit a dollar bill on fire at her table and had to be told by the karaoke host to put it out.

Some time later I was called up to perform a song, but the laptop the host was using to run everything completely crashed on him. While we waited for the computer to restart, the host started interviewing the guy to pass the time. I asked if we were on Maury Povich, and let one of the members of the crowd know that the test results are in, and that with 99.9% certainty they say that he IS the father of that child. Entire tables cheered him and applauded.

As the evening continued, Triceratops’ sojourns outside became increased in both frequency and length. After an extended absence by our Jurassic companion, one of the female bartenders approached the table in front of us and informed Sugar Daddy that he had to get her out of there immediately. When asked why, the bartender told him that Triceratops “tried to burn the building down.”

Time for me to investigate.

I went outside and talked to two guys who were standing out there. Apparently, she was harassing one of their girlfriends and generally being combative with everybody. She burned a five-dollar bill, expressed her displeasure with the place and everybody in it, and said it was time to burn the building down. One of the guys, who’s ex-Army, took the wrist of the hand holding the burning bill and prevented her from lighting one of the tables with it. She claimed he was being “too forceful” with her, at which point one of the bartenders stepped in and told her she wasn’t allowed back on the premises.

Afterwards, while we were chatting with the bartenders and in particular the one that intervened, I took her aside and chastised her for ruining my chances of bringing Triceratops home with me for the evening. “Thanks for the cockblock, I really appreciate it.”

Aside from the humor we all saw in the absurdity of the situation, I couldn’t help but express concern for what happened with Triceratops and her Sugar Daddy after they left the premises. I’m not proud to say that the thought passed, and that I didn’t linger too much on the safety of the developmentally disabled man as glasses of iced cranberry juice and the people I was with brought me with more happiness than any alcoholic beverage ever provided.