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Beer Makes Me Think I Can Dance

January 9, 2011

Here's Drunkle. Lord of the Dance.

Notice the sad bunny. My dancing makes him sad.

I enjoy drinking. I also enjoy going to a bar with friends. However, recently something has been bothering me.  As I approach turning 30, I can feel myself sliding precariously close to the age when I should be banned from dancing in public. Forever.

In my younger years, it was expected that I would get completely inebriated and dance. Young people are supposed to dance. I know this because the movie Footloose tells me so. However as I’ve aged, I have noticed that I’m frequently becoming quite the spectacle when drinking and dancing. Complete strangers turn and stare. Furry woodland creatures shiver in their cold winter dens. Inherently in tune with nature, even cute rabbits and wobbly-legged fawns sense that somewhere out there in the world, Drunkle is trying to dance and it makes them uncomfortable.

How did this transformation occur? The answer is simple. I’m getting older. I’m also bald. I also drink more than I should and still believe that my near 30 year old body moves with a kind of natural fluid grace usually only obtained with years of vigorous training in ballet. When prompted by the sweet siren songs of Ke$ha, Cascada or Michael Jackson, my body automatically starts convulsing like a marionette puppet controlled by Michael J. Fox.

Suddenly I am no longer the middle-aged pleasantly rotund smiling guy sitting in the corner, quietly sipping his beer. I become DRUNKLE~ LORD OF THE DANCE.

And then things start going badly. Drinks are spilled. I fall on my ass while trying to “get low.” The music fades away and I have personally just ensured that everyone in the bar will be haunted with images of my contorting body for months to come.

Most bar patrons immediately order several shots to try and block out the memory. It will not work. All those new dance moves I’ve practiced on Kinect have been indelibly seared into your brains.

So next time you are at the bar and you see the slightly older balding man heading out for the dance floor, run decisively for the nearest door (really any door will do- bathrooms, closets and walk-in freezers are all good choices.) You have been forewarned.

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One Comment
  1. owlgrl permalink

    I think you are missing a marketing opportunity here. Since, by your own admission, you drive other bar patrons to rapidly order additional drinks to block out the memory of your gyrations on the dance floor, I suggest you charge a fee to the bar in exchange for boosting their alcohol sales. Make lemonade out of lemons if you will.

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