I feel dirty. I need a shower, and yet I am stuck here in my work pod like a minion of the man.

Last night we ventured out to Disco Karaoke at a sushi bar. Evidently this roughly translates into the owner of a sushi bar in south Austin dressing up in a leopard print suit, fake afro, gold money chain and a pair of cheap 70’s style sunglasses. Declared as the Sushi Pimp, he gropes women and yells profanities about the customers into a microphone. We haven’t even gotten to the karaoke part yet.

We heard the festivities started at 7:30, so we got there at 7:30. It was packed and the waiter told us we probably wouldn’t get a seat. We went next door and had a margarita while we made plans to go somewhere else for a fish fix. On our way out to the next venue, we decided to peak in and see if we could find a seat. It turns out the Sushi Pimp spotted us peeping in the window and was yelling at the “gay boys” to go away. Next thing I know, I open the door and am staring at the pimp. “Ahh pretty lady, you come in. Look at her face; it’s so pretty. We find you seat”. “What about my friends?” “Those gay boys? Fuck those gay boys, you come sit.” I see the staff pulling up some chairs at the bar, so we walk in. He’s still talking smack to me, and then proceeds to slap me on the ass as I walk by. I jump, people laugh. I wonder if this is worth it.

Then a woman walks up and gives him the number of a song, and the music starts. As she coughs up some deafening lyrics, the pimp is poking her in the ass and makes lewd gestures to her. When her wining was intolerable, he bangs on a large gong and then invites her to have a sake bombs. All thirty people in the restaurant are yelling “SAKE BOMB”, and down it goes. Next up is guy who gets humiliated for being biracial. When the pimp doesn’t get the song number right the guy leans into the mic and says, “Aren’t you oriental people suppose to be good with numbers?” Umm – oriental? Good with numbers? The restaurant breaks out into laughter and the pimp makes fun of the boy’s pencil dick. All I can think is: What’s happening? Why does my ass sting?

Countless people get up, sing a line or two, get gonged and then take a shot. The Sushi Pimp is completely wasted by 9:00 and is now rolling on the floor trying to peak up women’s skirts, and shoving the microphone into girls privates so he can smell the mic. Nasty. I’m laughing. Why am I laughing?

Eventually the pimp couldn’t handle any more sake, and it was time for all the patrons to leave. Cabs were offered to all tables, and everyone stumbled out happy. Had it not been for the sake bombs, I’m not sure how the night would have ended. Today has been rather quiet. One of my friends just sent an email regarding the Disco Sushi Debriefing. I feel the same way. It was funny, it was wrong, and without the sake there would have been a fight. Now I just feel dirty. Why am I contemplating going back again?