Fellas: We're Not Good Dancers

Well, everything has officially changed.  Apparently the years 2003-2014 have been a complete wash from a dancing standpoint.  Listen, I'll tell you this first: I can't dance.  I have a semblance of rhythm and can follow a beat, but I'm not a dancer.  I'm not triple jointed, I'm not going to shift my hat off my head, onto my shoulder and onto my shoe like a Chris Brown and I'm certainly not trying to sweat out there.  I keep my perimeter tight and, barring how intoxicated I am, don't try anything too outlandish.  

According to science, drunk me was apparently "Mr. Steal Yo' Girl" and Albert Brennaman was one of the great dancers of our generation.  

Scary unpredictable movements of the legs, head and hips are apparently what's hot in the streets.  Any time you come close to kicking a girl or spilling her drink, you are building a deeper bond.  If you're smart, you're buying all of the stock in "The Running Man."  

You know what sucks?  The arms getting no love.  If anything, I'm a GREAT arm dancer.  I mean, what the hell am I going to do with this move now?

Had this shit in my back pocket for like 12 years.  I guess I have to live life without a "Plan B."  If anything, this blog may serve as my "I don't want to take a salsa class" opus.