Alan's still smiling, still basking in the warmth kindled by Ki's avowal of hate, when Shrieky brandishes his own blunt and emphatic species of logic.

"Mermaid," he says, not unkindly, a reasoned appeal made in reasonable tones, "you are generous to a fault--truly--and were I to embark on an enterprise as peril-fraught and uncertain as karaoke I would without question want you at my side. However, in the wilds of Massachusetts, where I was raised, custom dictates that the birthday boy (or girl, as the case may be) be serenaded by others. So, you see, my participation this evening simply wouldn't be proper."

He caps that off with a dainty sip of his drink and garnishes it with a smirk, naturally.