'I'm the type o' guy,
Who likes to roam around,
I'm never in one place,
I roam from town to town!'�

It's almost depressing to know the words to that song without ever hearing a proper version of it. The only place I've ever heard that song is at Karaoke. For six months, Karaoke was my life. And I didn't even really learn to sing. But I did learn to think, and to live, and I grew up more in that six months than I have during the rest of my short life. Going back now a year later, to where the Karaoke trail ended, I felt as if there was no excuse for the life I led, and the people I exploited and used.

Meh, fuck 'em. If the actions of a solitary man drove them to self-destruction, that's their problem. It wasn't my fault that the average pub-goer has the self-identity of an angst-filled emo teen, desperately anxious to assert themselves, but always have a justifying character to base their newfound individuality on. I was that character, the Anton LeVay or Tyler Durden of my society. It was my reality, and these people were merely guests.

So it should come as no surprise that I considered them my property. And like property, if you leave yourself open to the ways it can affect you, you can eventually affect it. Today's story is about Jane and her fat friend. Jane was 34 years old, and torn between holding onto her 'youth'� and ageing gracefully. She did neither very well at all. She met me on my first Karaoke experience, as I danced around during other people's songs, as if nobody else existed unless I acknowledged them. She was the first one with the guts to approach me. We became pretty good friends, and met at Karaoke four times a week for about a month, along with a lot of other cool people. And then, one night, she decided to be a bitch and get me to talk to her fat friend.

'Excuse me?'� She sounded rather impatient. Unbeknownst to myself, I had been ignoring her for about five minutes, too busy dancing to care what anybody had to say to me. I quickly turned around when she tapped me on the shoulder.
'Yeah?'�
'My friend wants to know, are you single?'�
'I am, but is your friend an ugly skank?'�
'She's over there.'� Jane pointed to a fat, yet slutty girl sitting behind a table looking right at me. Being bored shitless, I went to talk to her, and the conversation eventually got around to my mode of transport.
'What type of car do you drive?'�
''97 Camry.'� I was anxiously scanning the bar for hot chicks. I was out of luck.
'Oooh. They're good cars for sex.'� This chick would've fucked up the rear suspension something fierce. Too damn fat. But being a sadistic prick has its advantages, namely a damn good imagination. I quickly found a way to turn this into something I will laugh at forever. I started to play the cards the way they were intended.

'Yeah, but you won't find out.'�
'Why not?'� She knew what I was doing, which was good. She'd come out this night to get laid, and I'd give her the ride of her life.
'Because I don't fuck in the back of my Camry.'�
'Well, what do you do in the back of your Camry.'�
'I can lie in the back, and you can give me head. That's about as far as it will go. Consider yourself lucky.'� When blessed with the power of delivery, an arrogant arsehole will become the alpha male.
'Well, let's go!'� This enthusiastic hog stood right up, and everything jiggled. I gave off a quick shudder, thought to myself, 'They're all the same when they're on their knees, and she has nice hair,'� and stood up. We said goodbye to Jane, and went out to my car.

No sooner had we gotten in than I felt a hand on my crotch. This was going to be hilarious, as all exploits with fat people are. I drove around the corner and up Griffin Lane. Griffin Lane is a long, No-Thru alley that is lined with rubbish skips and bins. I drove a perfect straight line about 50 metres to the end of the alley, chucked on the handbrake, turned up the music and jumped in back, yelling to Tubby, 'Come round the driver's side!'� I opened the door, hung my legs outside the car, and let this horny swine go for it.

Best blowjob ever. Fat chicks give the best head because they're always hungry. This is to my benefit. It means that the money shot will come sooner, and the real fun can begin! To my surprise, I was taking a long time to get it all over with. In hindsight, I can understand why. Such a scheme as mine would keep almost any man occupied. Still she finished the job in less than ten minutes, and then it was time to rock. I gave out a groan, shot in her mouth, and the moment she'd lapped it up, lifted her head and removed her hands from my penis, I did it.

I let the handbrake off.

What followed next was a complicated set of manoeuvres, which entailed pulling up my pants, climbing from the back seat to the front, grabbing the steering wheel with one hand, trying to get Miss Piggy's hands out of my car so that I could shut the back door with the other, and turning on the ignition. What makes this particularly difficult is that I almost died from laughter during the entire episode. I finally managed to get the back door shut, and turned the high beams on, beeping my horn as I pulled out of the alley and away from a crying sea-mammal. I don't know what she was complaining about; she got a good feed out of it.

I drove off into the night with tears in my eyes; I was laughing so hard I almost crashed twice. The next day I called Tim, who was out that night.
'Tim, you comin' out tonight, man?'�
'Yeah, I'll be there'� hey, how'd you go with that fat chick?'�
'I'll tell you all about it tonight, but if Jane gets there before I do, ask her. She'll know all about it.'�

I never saw Jane that night, nor ever again. By humiliating and degrading her close friend (and by dragging the bitch 10 metres while she clung to my car), I had eliminated her from the Karaoke scene. After a couple of weeks, I realised that I had the power to control not only the people I hung out with at Karaoke, but also the people who attended Karaoke! What followed was six months of debauchery and disgrace, and all will be revealed in excruciating detail.

Stay tuned.

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