If you ever want to bring the house down on karaoke night, all you need is a rocking tune, an energetic performance and a hairy dude in a poodle skirt. Trust me, it works.

It was Halloween night in 2004 and a bunch of us ducked out of a party and headed to a bar on the corner to grab a few beers and show off our costumes. I can’t recall what all of us wearing, but I’m sure that our friend Camo made a dashing woman, complete with a pink poodle skirt, blonde wig and a low cut shirt that revealed chest hair whose equal could only be found on Burt Reynolds.

So there we were, all dressed up and drinking beers in the back of a dive bar. The seven of us were the only ones in the place wearing costumes, which meant there we were plenty of sideways looks as we walked into the place.

Now karaoke is rarely a good idea, but for some reason after a few pitchers of Livonia Lite, those bad ideas start seeming like genius. So of course, impaired judgment somehow managed to get us to put our names in, settle our tabs and head up on stage.

As the opening riffs of The Darkness’ I Believe in a Thing Called Love came blasting out of the speakers, a hundred poker-faced trashers just stared back at us. Matt was on lead, jumping up on tables, singing his lungs out while Jeff, Do and I did our best on backing vocals and Camo danced his ass off. It wasn’t long before the crowd was into it, singing and clapping along.

And just as quickly as it began, the song ended and we stood there in silence, staring back at the crowd. That’s when Do grabbed the mic and said “Thank you! You’ve been a great audience! Good night!” raised the mic over his head and dropped it and walked out the door. The rest of us had no idea what to do, so we followed him. The few friends we’d left standing there watching us perform said the house came down. People were cheering and clapping and a waitress even suggested hiring us to entertain on the weekends.

We’ve followed the performance up a couple times. Do has done it best, rocking a strange neighborhood bar in Chicago one night after a Cubs-Tigers game, playing air guitar with the mic stand and gyrating behind an unsuspecting girl who was headed across the bar in front of him. Suffice it to say, I Believe in a Thing Called Love has become a bit of a tradition amongst the L-Town crew. One I hope doesn’t end any time soon.