Meet Lounge.

I'm just going to come out and say this. I'm dating a part-time improvisational lounge singer.

He's Lounge-asaurus Rex. He hosts events, performs at shows, and creeps audiences out far and wide. I first saw him from a distance. I was a shy audience member, dazzled by his chunky, jeweled rings and flaming red collar that stretches for miles. His slicked-back hair and proudly-displayed chest is enough to make any girl blush. His tight pants and female sunglasses elicit some sort of hipster/hippie/night fever combination of terrifying-yet-awesome.

This weekend we were on a 15-hour car trip and he was feeling loungy and I was feeling radio reportery so I whipped out my digital recorder and asked the man, nay, the legend, a few questions. If you're lucky, you might even hear him sing a little ditty for you. But be careful...your ears might bleed from too much sexy.

Listen here.

I'm proud to introduce to you...Lounge-asaurus Rex. The man. The myth. The witty banter machine.