Who Wants to Join My Dance Gang

The kids are not alright...

There is something terribly wrong with them - there is a whole generation of backup dancers coming up. All the movies about dancing are corrupting their minds, convincing them that dancing is Bad Ass. The last dancing person to successfully be B.A. was Erol Flynn, and I can garauntee that these kids haven't the slightest of who He is.

When they battle-dance, there is no war paint - only glitter, there are no weapons - only flashy shoes. They call it a battle, but it sounds like strip club. Glitter and flashy shoes everywhere. Everyone twitching and shimming.

The battlefield of the twenty first century will be perfectly choreographed - imagine something between Texas line dancing a Brooklyn break dancing, with guns and MREs.

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Job Water

How much is too much, how much is not enough?..

This one's going out to anyone who's ever wondered what my oversized coffee cup looks like when it's near my ipod at work. You people are sickos and true fanatics. I can appreciate that.

It's a fine mug - it holds too much, and still I fill it about three times a day. If I were to charge into battle with a broadsword, bare chested and loin clothed, wearing a war face and Conan bracelets... I would want this to be in my other hand. Screaming mercilessly, and taking a sip. Running headlong into the furrows of the killing fields, muscles tense, eyes bulging, veins bursting from the skin, and trying not to spill. The Elysian fields will be stained parchment.

Seems a shame to park this battle mug on a desk...