I CANT DANCE

Here's a post about me not being able to body pop

As I walked back from the toilet I looked onto the dance floor and saw a group of friends dancing, giving it no second thought, loving every rhythmic movement and I envied them. Next to them was a lone male using his dancing skills to try and attract two girls also having a dance. I didn’t envy him. He was slowly approaching them with shoulder rolls and hip shakes in an attempt to show these girls he was a FUN GUY and that they should dance with him. The girls promptly left the dance floor, I assume through fear. This routine was not unfamiliar to me as I used to also try to chat up girls with the Macarena, until I realised that words are probably more effective. It’s a bit like going into a job interview and purely fox trotting for 30mins.. (It is nothing less than horrific that I can put chatting up girls in the same category as job interviews)

So I said the gift of the gab is more effective and it is, to a degree... If you're talking to a lady and making her laugh and getting on like a bleeding house on fire it’s great but then a song comes on that she presumably loves and rarely hears and you hear her say the most horrible sentence ever imaginable “Lets Go Dance” at this point my heart sinks well aware of what’s going to happen..

I have to go and dance with her I can’t just point blank refuse, I need to show her that I’m a regular human being who loves to have FUN like every other normal functioning member of society

So we arrive at the dance floor, she’s doing some sort of sexy self hair grabbing sexy body dance and I’m stood about 2ft across from her like a rabbit caught in headlights not knowing what to do. I do have rhythm so I manage to bust out a rhythmic sway and occasionally point (and I’m not quite sure what I’m pointing at, but I hope it constitutes as dancing). If I knew the song I could sing along and relieve the awkward tension that’s building up in my mind but alas its some song by the Black Eyed Peas about weeing your self and having the time of your life.

Beside me there’s a guy who’s seen that I’m obviously drowning in poor dance moves and in my mind is going to try and step in front of me so I need to up my game and in a desperate attempt I resort to shaking my hips and rolling my shoulders and I head towards her like the love child of Michael Flatley and The Terminator ready to pounce which inevitably scares her off the dance floor. In the space of 3mins what was going well with lots of chatting and laughs has been destroyed to the soundtrack of the Black Eyed Peas. Later I see her dancing with a some guy wearing a polo shirt with his collar turned up and new wave take on Dennis The Mennis hair cut.

I don’t dance at home by myself and never have any desire to, so why would I ever dance in a room full of people and especially with someone I want to impress, it is my social suicide. I can do a passable skank but no one really wants to see that. So I guess I need to stick to what I’m good at sitting in the corner of clubs for 10mins assessing my life skills hoping that my future wife hates dancing as much as me.

BYE.

ROCKNESS

I ENJOYED ROCKNESS SO MUCH I DECIDED TO POST SOME LOWLIGHTS

A few moronic quotes from this weekend to get the ball rolling

“Oh no David’s shat his tent, it’s probably because he was off his face on MDMA last night such a LAD.”

“ Have you seen that tart Izzy? Oh I take that up the rear, the fucking slag.”

Rockness provided me with many opportunities to hate the world and equally love it this year, but by now as you know my games about whinging.  As I sat in my festival chair staring at helpless girls struggling to erect their tent in the slight rain, I contemplated  “if I offer to help them would it be sexist?” and is the fact I used the words “erect” and "girls” in the same sentence sleazy? Anyway as I sat there in my self debate I then thought back to the bloody idiots on the bus (I didn’t actually think back I've just structured the paragraph like this). I thought back at the 7 guys that must have been 18( the young whippersnappers) all wearing matching trilbies saying phrases like “that cunts jiving” and talking about how they  were going to destroy the weekend all whilst I was trying to get some shut eye at 5am in the morning . I think between them they shared one brain and that it self was probably made from paté. Yes it would be a tasty brain to have on toast but as a functioning dictator of the body, fucking useless. The low point of their LAD behavior was their reaction to a guy on the bus doing a card trick, which I must  say was entertaining , but it didn’t warrant them all to get there metaphorical penis’ out and offer to proverbially take this magician up his magical hole. Their over enthusiasm made me pity them for a second before remembering how much I hated them.

Being the passive aggressive that I am I didn’t say anything vocally, I just shared in quite whispers and knowing looks with Nial on the bus. BUT THEN I SNAPPED, two days in to the festival I saw one of the “jiving cunts” at which point he said to me “shouldn’t you be sleeping?”  Rage filled my passive body so much that no thought was coherent and I blurted out in a fit of rage “SHOULDN’T YOU BE WANKING OVER PICTURES OF YOU'RE MUM!?” I wasn’t proud of it but it felt good like releasing a wee after holding it in, in the car. Obviously weeing in a toilet and not in the car.

 After I awoke from thinking of those pate' headed bastards I saw that the “helpless girls” had indeed managed to put up (erect) their tent, which taught us all a lesson. A) That they could do it without the help of a steaming male and B) I am always right.

There was another group of bastards camping near us some decent, some of which were morons. I often wonder how people don't realise how much of a Jim Davidson they can be. Anyway one of them got their comeuppance by passing out in our tent. We had a 2 litre bottle of piss in our tent and when Nial found him passed out the bottle of piss had some what went down in volume. We suspect he had drunk our piss.

Yes i have been whinging, but apart from meeting a few shafts the majority of the people were sound as 100 pence, ruddy brilliant. We met old friends, new friends and generally had an awesome time which was the perfect pallet cleanser for our dickhead pate' on toast.  There is a lot I could write about this weekend on a positive note as it was bloody excellent but I decided to keep the memories to myself and parade these annoying bastards on the internet like William Wallaces decapitated head.(is that still a sore point for you Scots? Don’t worry Salmond is next)

So equate all these words together and you come to the realisation that not everyone in the world has a penis stuck to their forehead and the ones that do will probably end up drinking your piss one day.

Peace Love and Prosper. Free Tibet.