April 4, 2009

Man of 1,000 Dances

Initials and I went to the "danceclub" last night. And yes, I do use the word danceclub in quotation marks, because, well, it's a club in the middle of Wisconsin. It is exactly what you would expect it to be, and try as they might, it's no Babylon from QAF.

All in all the night was a bust, but it did make me update my New Year's Resolution. I want to be the kind of asshole who memorizes choreography and uses it for my own advantage. I want to have "Single Ladies" down pat and have youtube videos of me dancing in my underwear hit the most played list. I want to be in the front when Thriller comes on and everyone sort of fakes the moves, only getting into it ironically. I want to be able to dance Bye Bye Bye like the best of them and dominate the floor when "Hung Up" comes on.

Mostly, I just want to be able to walk onto the dance floor and say "Excuse me, bitches wearing glitter hair gel and too small tank-tops that expose your backne. Excuse me, drag queen whose wig is askew and is not wearing nail polish. Excuse me, fag hags in search of a fag. THIS is how Pat Benetar teams up with her prostitute friends and they shimmy and dance away her pimp in the white suit."

And then I would dance all of the ugly ones out of the "club."

That's the kind of asshole I want to be when I grow up.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.