Hey, uh, bit of a situation here. I’m a few measures into my song and just realized I made a grave mistake. The bridge has this one high note I forgot about that I can’t hit. Like, at all.
I’m not panicking just yet. I’ve got options. Now the easiest would be a natural disaster. Can someone check the weather app and see if there’s a violent lightning storm headed straight for Calvin’s Sing & Sizzle Shack in the next 90 seconds? Maybe a tsunami? Yes, I know we’re in Missouri. It’s the season of miracles, guys.
Fine. So maybe a “natural” disaster that’s not quite natural, if you catch my drift? I’m not suggesting arson, but look, if anyone wants to casually drop a lit match onto a table that just happens to be soaked in kerosene, I’d really appreciate it.
Right now would be perfect, my man in the front who looks like a chain smoker. I’ll pull the alarm and we’ll all get out safely, don’t worry. Light smoke inhalation and a second-degree burn will be less painful than hearing my tortured vocal cords try to wail out the upcoming high note, believe me.
Okay. Now we’ve hit the second verse and I’m sweating. Is it too late to drop an octave? I could do a gravelly growl. Whole grunge vibe, right? I feel like that cute girl at the table over there would be into it. She’s staring at me already, and I’m sure it’s not because of the gruesome pit stains expanding across my entire shirt.
Never mind, she’s leaving. The bridge is here, and it’s do or die. I choose to die. Someone hand me one of those chicken yakitori skewers coming out of the kitchen. After a few convincing guttural coughs and spit-out chicken bits, I just have to fling my mic down and frantically make the universal choking sign as I crumple onto the floor.
I think they’re buying it. A burly guy yelling he’s a part-time EMT is making his way over. Heimlich me to death, dude. Break every bone in my body. I never thought a fake choking episode flat on my back on a sticky faux wood floor that smells like garlic and tequila was how I’d go, but I’m ready. Send me to the big hibachi grill in the sky.
Hold up, the EMT says I’m “totally fine.” Now the owner’s coming over with a glass of water and everyone in the bar is cheering for me. You know what, change the song. I’m gonna do “Bohemian Rhapsody” instead.