I love to go dancing. A lot of my male friends will see this and think, "What was I doing a second ago. I know I was doing something important. Dammit can't remember, guess it wasn't important." Then they'll continue reading.
The point is, I can't make a big enough fool of myself day in and day out. Occasionally I need some good old "look like a buffoon, and not a particularly coordinated one at that" time. Usually two to three hours is ideal. I make people with epilepsy and or cerebral palsy look like they're Flamenco instructors extraordinaire.
I wonder sometimes if I should drink or not. I'll have a beer while I work it out. Really, when you're on the dance floor being an idiot having a couple of drinks won't hurt anything. At worst you'll lose control and get thrown out of the club. But honestly, that might be more beneficial to your reputation in the long run. No one wants to dance with a Mr. Boring McStraightedge, so I say, "Down the hatch" then pretend I'm on a submarine. NOT one of the sandwiches. That would be ridiculous. How would you even dance on a ham and provolone cheese sub?
But let's be honest. The real reason guys go dancing is to hit on chicks. By hit on chicks I mean "stand in a corner and bop their head while staring at only one girl the whole night." I'm not saying there are more creepers on the dance floor than trees in the forest. But that's just because with the level of deforestation going on, there's no way the trees could compete.((Note, while potentially funny, mixing up deforestation and defloweration is not a good way to impress a girl's environmentally conscious father.))
I couldn't get out dancing this past week. So here's to telling jokes to kings and generally making a fool of myself.
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