American Pie, John McClean – or really any song that has added in group setting lyrics, Mony Mony, Margaritaville, Sweet Caroline, etc. The ever present need for me to live out my rock star fantasies is fulfilled with these songs. I am hip – I am part of the group – I am the cool girl that knows the inside added extra line. It’s the same feeling I got when I was the first to talk about the hidden track in my high school group, during the hidden track era, back when we all bought CDs….
“Drinking beer with my fucked up friends”
Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen – this is only because I have all three voice parts of this song memorized and if I am drunk enough I will ask the DJ if I can borrow three microphones and the proceed to have my asshole, my vagina, and both boobs sing the rocking out acopella part from Wayne’s world. I clearly can’t do this sober. I heard a rumor there are some photos/videos of me doing this but if I get my hands on the items (RACHEL) I will destroy all evidence. The last thing I need is my kids seeing that in like 20 years and being like “Well… you’re right boob sounds great but your ass is a little off key.”
VAG- “I’m just a poor boy, nobody loves me”
BOOBS – “He just a poor boy from a poor family”
Piano Man, Mr. Billy Joel – I have actual wrote a few song parodies to this tune about my friends and drinking with my friends and the pride of being a south sider. It’s one of my favorites, drunk or sober, but it made the list since I barely remember the real lyrics anymore. The other added benefit of this song is that I get to pretend like I know how to play the piano. Well… “pretend” might be a stretch. A more appropriate statement might be that I lie to strangers about being a piano genius and that my parents forced me to practice for hours on end until I told them I would never play again. Then I demonstrate how to play this song on the edge of the bar. Sometimes I even manage to well up a little tear but then I realize the strange knows that I’m full of shit because I’m basically playing the chopsticks with two fingers and I don’t look like I’m an Asian musical prodigy.
“The piano sounds like a carnival and my microphone smells like a beer.”
Beat It, Michael Jackson – or any Michael Jackson song for that matter. You see, if I was a super hero I wouldn’t have any lame sally power like super strength or xray vision. My one true talent…. My best kept secret… My one pocket ace… would be my ability to dance my way out of any horrible situation… just like the late, great Michael Jackson. Good news for EVERYONE!!!! I AM A SUPER HERO WHEN I HAVE BEEN DRINKING!!!! I know, I know- totally great, right? When I was little (in size and age) I would watch MJ videos over and over again until I could memorize his moves. I totally had them down too. The knee touch, the pelvic push, the moonwalk. I was pretttttty pretttttttty awesome back in the day. One, small, teeny weenie problem. I was a kid when I was memorizing them so #1 the dance is obviously not correct. #2 everyone knows the dance is not correct and I look like a moron. #3 I only ONLY only do these dances when I am drinking… so I never get any better at it, I don’t rewatch the videos to get a refresh… nothing. Not to mention that I am not a professional dancer. I’m not even an amateur dancer, and I don’t mean that in a gross, glittery stripper way. I mean, I’m don’t have an over abundance of rhythm. But my gosh – I would kill to have those moves.
“I told ‘em don’t you ever come around here.”
Brass Monkey, Beastie Boys – such a great song and a great drinking game mixed into one. I like drinking! I like songs! I like games! And BAMB- you have brass monkey. Oh….. that funky monkey. For those of you who don’t know how to play. You have two teams. Each team can consist of an unlimited amount of players. Team one is brass. Team two is monkey. Every time the song says “Brass”, team one drinks. Every time the song says “Monkey” team two drinks. Sounds stupid, right? Right about now you’re thinking “I could do that and be fine.” Well, basically, you are wrong. I have seen grown ass men fall on their faces after playing this game. I witnessed uncontrollable liquid regurgitation from an innocent soul on team monkey. I am a serious binge drinker and I have had some not so pleasant or proud moments during or immediately following the evil twisted game of Brass Monkey. With all that said, it still makes my list of favorites… and a tip from me to you- when you go home and try to play tonight, because you know you will, pick team brass and let some other poor sucker be team monkey.
“Put your left leg down, your right hand up, tip your head back and finish the cup.”
We didn’t start the fire, Mr. Billy Joel – I’m not good for much when I am at a bar. I mean, you can count on me for a few rounds and maybe a couple of wise ass remarks but over all, I’m not the “GO TO” friend. I’m not the “Give you ride because you and your mate are fighting” kind of friend. I wouldn’t necessarily call me the “hold your hair while you’re vomiting” person. I do, however, know all the words to We Didn’t Start The Fire – which if you need a conversation starter or want to draw attention to our table, you can throw this oldie but goody on the ye old jukebox and I will let her rip. Of course, on two conditions- 1) If I feel like it and 2) If I have a bottle of beer. The first reason is because I’m a selfish prick and won’t do things unless I want to. The second reason is because I secretly don’t know all the words and for the few parts that I either don’t know or can’t remember, I will drink my beer and move my head like I’m singing.
I first learned this song when I was in the 7th grade. I was attending Heritage Middle School and my music teacher was Mr. Saia. Mr. Saia had an enormous ding-a-ling that you could see the outline through his pants. Being that young, of course we all talked about how gross it was and how he must stuff socks in jeans but now… being a grown ass woman, I do wonder sometimes what Mr. Saia had going on in his pants. He did have a son Peter… maybe he’s on facebook.
“Dylan, *drinking the beer*, Bay of Pigs Invasion”
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