Earlier today I was in my basement dusting off old Championship rings and MVP trophies when I noticed an old karaoke machine hidden under some boxes. I was astonished by my discovery because I never was a fan of karaoke, and I would rather create my own music than sing someone else’s. If I was a middle aged schmuck drinking away the sorrows of my predictable lifestyle and sitting at a bar yelling “Hey Barkeep, leave the bottle,” then maybe, just maybe, I would take up karaoke as a hobby. But I’m not, and “Champion Karaoke” is almost as much of an oxymoron as “Women’s Sports,” so I decided to investigate my finding a little further.
I pushed a few Player of the Year awards and old paternity tests clearing me of fatherhood out of the way and walked up to the machine. It was obviously broken, and the cassette deck was sticky with stains of vodka. I decided I should just smash it to pieces for fun, but as I hoisted it in the air a tape fell out. I picked up the tape and it was labeled “2002 rap.” Suddenly, my memories rushed to my brain like smoke spewing from a gravity bong.
When I was in High School, I used to rap all the time with my friends. And since I’m a champion, I was quite good. The tape I found happened to be some songs I recorded when I was sixteen years old, and I immediately uploaded them on my computer. Since the tape is so dated and decrepit, only one of the tracks was transferred to a digital file with a good enough sound quality to hear. It’s still kind of rough, and you can tell I sound like a very young champion, but it’s worth a listen. Also, whereas the last song I posted was hilarious because of how sincere it sounded despite the content, this one is just nasty. Champion out.