So you think (I give a shit) you can dance? I don’t. Not one fucking bit. Not remotely. Not at all.
Can I dance? Not a lick. Frankly, though, that has nothing to do with why I hate you dance fucks to no end. Sure, your ability is admirable, I suppose. Maybe admirable is the wrong word. Your ability is something I don’t possess, so bully for you. Still, I could give a good god damn about watching your “crew” jump around like a hoard of synchronized retards in masks, oversized pants, and matching 80s outfits from the annals of Square Pegs.
So, I’m assuming the Fly Girls had a yard sale…?
Having a dance crew, yet alone so many shows now dedicated to dance in general – So You Think You Can Dance?, America’s Best Dance Crew, Dancing with the Stars – is inherently wrong. You want to dance professionally? Join a ballet company. Or a nudie bar. Until then, for the love of Christ, quit wasting my time. And yours.
Really, where do you intend to go with your hoodie and hip-hop background? The economy is in the toilet as is, and last I checked Dance Crew Company, Inc. was on a complete and total job freeze. No, you’re right. I’m being overly critical. Leaping over people and contorting your body while people tell you “Your moves are tight” and bump you into next week’s dance-off is completely legit. What’s more, I’m thinking of giving up my job altogether and practicing the hell out of some sort of tap/fox-trot fusion, ’cause you can sure as shit bet that Tap That Fox’s Ass will be hitting MTV by 2012, and I’m gonna’ be prepared.
Now if he’d take a giant poop on his “crew” mid-air, then I’d be impressed.
Let’s face it: best case scenario is you end up sucking cock on-stage as a back-up dancer for Madonna, or you wind up here, which, incidentally, is the reigning champ for “Most Annoying, Fucked-Out Commercial.” (And by the way, I don’t know if the individual award for “Most Annoying Douchebag in a Commercial” goes to the broad “working out” her moves in front of the mirror, or faux-indie rock star guy who gives the knowing nod to his bandmates after picking out the right chord on his guitar.) Okay, perhaps I’m being too harsh, as this “dancer” still might take the prize for “Douchiest Douche of All Time.”
You want to know the type of people who form dance crews? This type…
“Hey, you, in the lower right-hand corner: there’s a dead raccoon on your head. Just saying.”
Listen, you want to put on funny clothes and do some synchronized dancing with your pals, by all means. Have at it. The world is your oyster. All I’m saying is that, well, you’re kind of a dick. And for the record, there’s only one dance crew I support…
That’ll do it for the great letter “D.” Until “E” arrives in style and puts a foot up your ass, have at it, you vultures!