An explosion of feedback erupts from the speakers as the DJ announces: Ladies and gentlemen, up next, we've got Joe! and that lonely first name is instantaneously transformed into a rock n roll synonym, a household surnameless pseudonym like Prince or Elvis because tonight the kings are dead and Joe has taken the crown.

The dance floor lights are flashing like miniature electric rainbows as nine screaming fans cheer him onto the stage. Joe! Joe! Joe! Joe!...

He takes his place behind the mike. His tie is loose, his sleeves are rolled up; beads of sweat are beginning to form on his acceleratedly balding head and right here, right now Joe is alive!

The video screen flickers for a moment and a stunningly unfunny Saturday Night Live is mercifully replaced by a 3-2-1 boew-nu-na-nu-nae-nu-ne-nu as air guitars rage to life in the hands of four or five hopelessly intoxicated idiots. Low-quality MTV-esque footage occupies the screen and a boyfriend whispers to his girlfriend: Do you think the models on the screen are porno actors trying to make a little extra money on the side?

She is about to respond, but the first lyrics have scrawled across the bottom of the screen in jagged white letters. "Shes got eyes of the bluest skies..." and the world belongs to Joe.

The first few bites of the song have awakened an alcohol-damaged face at the bar who is suddenly reminded of a woman he knew twenty years ago. He lets out a hearty Whooo! before forgetting her all over again and becoming reacquainted with Jack. He's almost figured out exactly how many shots it takes to forget someone.

The electronically synthesized instruments filling the air have inspired two of the crowd of nine to dance and they begin their ritualistic, sort-of- electric-slide gyrations, careful not to trip over the microphone cord, though one of them does.

The mike goes dead, but Joe doesnt care. He sings louder, tosses the impotent mike back to the DJ and makes his way into the crowd! On his way off the stage he picks up a pink inflatable electric guitar and swings it over his head.

The girlfriend says to her boyfriend: Do you think hes gonna hit this note coming up?

Ive seen him here before, he may not get it, butbelieve me, he's gonna try.

"Where do we go now? Now, now, now, now, now, now, now?!!"

Joe is reinvigorated. I hit, I hit! he thinks to himself, although he doesnt notice that the couple sitting closest to the speakers have turned their heads slightly to the left the way dogs do when they hear fire-truck sirens.

Joe smashes his buoyant guitar on the stageit impacts with a loud bup. He ends up on his knees in true rock n roll fashion

"Sweet Chi-ee-ild, Sweet Chi-ee-i- ee-i-ee-ild of mi-ee-ine."

80s Rock isnt dead. It courses through the veins of a half-drunk, balding accountant named Joseph Johnson, and the king has to call a cab to take him home now, 'cause he has to get up in time to go to work tomorrow.

Thank you and good night!