Back in my partying days, I used to go toobing every summer down on the Guadalupe to kick off the school year. This carried on until way longer than it should have. We would camp at this place called "O. Henry's Hideaway." There was a guy there who ran karaoke for the campers on Saturday nights. You couldn't play pool in the O. Henry rec room because this guy's sleeping bag and all his possessions occupied said table. I asked O. Henry's wife about it once and she grudgingly said he was the son of one of their great business associates. But the associate had since died, and they didn't quote know how to get rid of the aimless son.
Anyhow, Mr. Karaoke fucking lived for Whitesnake. Being the karaoke host, he took it upon himself to make sure that not just one song of the night, but like every third song was Whitesnake/Deep Purple/David Coverdale. And this wasn't so the camp guests could be cajoled into singing them. Heeeellll naw. He knew if he wanted it done properly he had to do it himself. This guy would come out in full 80s moussed hair, tight leather pants (it was August in Texas), and studded belt and sing every god, damned, one of the songs. This was late 90s/early 2000s. It was as if in his mind a talent scout from 1986 was going to come back in time to O. Henry's Hideaway and whisk him away to the Whisky-A-Go-Go and the Sunset Strip. Like his commitment was 1000%. You have not lived until you've drifted to sleep to the dulcet tones of "In the Still of the Night" after a long down of pounding cool ones on the river.
So thank you David Coverdale for inspiriting my all time favorite karaoke experience.
/coolstorybro