Dance only if you can

Damn near every time I step in the club I have this one question that bubbles up on me like bad bbq, “What the fuck are they doing on the damn dance floor?” I mean you go to the typical non hood bay area spot and fools are looking like they’re either profiling for the latest coochie flashing pop stars video or even worse, standing in the middle of the god damn spot texting. Yeah yeah I know, people like to text. But kill that noise on the dance floor. Unless your baby’s mama is telling you she’s got your signed hard covers of Miracleman over an open flame and she’s going to torch them unless you can explain why some fifteen year old breezy keeps calling, you don’t have to return the damn text at that moment. To quote an old tune “So all you fly mothers, get out on the floor and dance. Dance I said!” Dance like you mean it, like your life depended on it. Get loose on the coordinated movements and all that noise. Just free flow like you don’t know how to do shit but let the music take you over. Dance like you’re possessed. Fuck it , get possessed by the music. Stop talking so much. Put the drink down, stop caring about what she thinks you look like, or whether or not he’s noticing your ass. Stop dancing like every move is just a precursor to getting banged or doing some banging. Enjoy the music. In short, dance like Elephant man up above.
Questions abound. “Why oh Why, Afrogeek, are you picking on those poor unfortunate souls who think they can dance but really have just watched too much bad MTV?” Many reasons my friends, many reasons. First off, I’d like to feel comfortable at more than one club in my area. Right now, I can only really cut loose at the local Oakland spot that spins dance hall on a regular. Second of al, my hope is that if full on negritude revives its dominance of the dance floor, maybe dancing will stop getting as gentrified as my neighborhood. I mean it’s all good to have all kinds of folk up in the dance floor, but we of the burnt faces need to be holding it down proper, essentialized notions of blackness or not. And I’m tired of not being able to dance without a female partner for fear of being mistaken as the dude who is pushing up on females. I dance because I feel the music and I like to sweat, not because I want to hump. If I want to hump, I’ll say something like... “Wanna hump?”
Of course the third and final reason I’m picking on foul fools who think they can dance but just end up pissing off anyone with a sense or rhythm has absolutely nothing to do with anything noble. It’s because I hate white people. Ok, not all white people. More like this one fat, unctuous, retarded, bloated, pasty faced, sour milk breath, splotchy skinned, cubic zircona wearing, hobbit looking, friction thigh having, pork sandwich eating, pee drinking, pre marital sex having outcast from the black sheep of the family known as the butt uglies. But at the time she was reping so much more than that.
Peep game: I’m riding shotgun with my boy Moki at the bar he bounces at, just helping out ,doing my bit, you know; Checking I.d.s, clearing off tables, helping keep a lid on shit on a crazy Saturday night at a bar I affectionately refer to as a place where you can end up with period blood on your pants. Real talk. It’s crazy in this piece. Anyway, I’m chilling at the door when the poster child for abortions (with a coat hanger if necessary) walks up to me and offers the following repertoire:
Skank Ho: You voting for Obama?
Me: No.
Skank Ho: You a republican?
Me: No
Enter Skank Ho #2
Skank Ho #2: Shut up, you can’t ask him questions like that. He could be a felon or something.
Original Skank Ho: You shut up, I got two black children I can say whatever I want.

I know what you’re going to ask me. “So what happened after you smacked the taste out her mouth?” The truth is I don’t hit women nor do I conversate with people who have less than ten brain cells, so I had to let it go. But then this dizzy, disrespectful mother of two doomed black children starts hollering Too short lyrics on the dance floor. I wanted to walk up t her and say “Hey, dingbat! You are in spitting distance of Oakland. No one here gives a fuck that you know all the words to a Too short song. Shut the hell up!” But she was knocking drinks off of tables from across the bar so I couldn’t get close enough to fully get my point across. But yeah. That’s why I felt the need to do this post. Go dance like Elephant man and leave the rest alone, ya heard?