SHAFTWAXER

I went to a dance club last night for the first time in… uh… wow… a long ass time. Let us look at two exhibits.

Exhibit A: Break-dancing fool.
Clearly enjoying himself, and more importantly, drunk off his ass. There has to be somebody who will be “the first one” on the dance floor before all of the other shallow hulls of humanity will flock like lemmings to the bass driven slaughter. I think the thing that prevents Break-dancing fool from scoring with the ladies is the fact that coming anywhere near him or a 3 foot radius of him will result in blunt force trauma to yourself. And for those that think that I am choosing the phrase “break-dancing” as a way of heightening the irony of the situation, that he just might be some white guy with minimal rhythm flailing his appendages in every which direction… No. Dude was break-dancing. Just think about that for a little bit. OK, now stop thinking about it. It makes the mind blink.

Exhibit B: Miami Vice
Remember the image of somebody with minimal rhythm flailing his appendages in every which direction? Right. That guy. Now put him in a grey suit open with a black shirt under it. Reconnaissance teams informed us that our Don Johnson had been spotted at the same club before with the all white suit instead. Seemed to be an older guy, maybe late 20s to mid 30s. Danced with himself the whole night. Huge fucking club, decent sized dance floor, and he struck me as alone. I don’t want to say that he was trying way too hard… I don’t to NOT say he was trying way too hard either…

Now, after we get done making fun of our 2 friends, who is sadder? Break-dancing fool, Miami Vice, or the person way too self conscious to get on the dance floor in the first place?