To me, dancing is not an action. It's a lifestyle. One does not dance for fun. One dances to live and breath in this suffocating world we call Earth. World Wrestling Entertainment, in all its sports entertainment splendor, brought me to the dance floor. Under the bright lights, I saw WWE for what it was, what it could be. Wrestling wasn't about matches, but about swaying, moving to the music as it set you free.
I thought about watching something else. I thought about getting fresh air and doing something productive, but I couldn't look away from these sights. World Wrestling Entertainment showed me the moves, and I wanted to move it. Nobody could dance like WWE's talent roster. They were ever so graceful. Their movements were as light as the summer breeze.
Some say professional wrestling can't be real, but what if I don't want it to be real? What I want is to turn on the television or walk into the arena and see wrestlers dancing the impossible dance again. I want dances to go back to they were when wrestling made sense, but that is never going to happen and it is all my fault — all of it: Vince, the fact that I urged him to learn more and more about current popular culture. He got the idea to make wrestlers dance new dances because of me, because of my stupid need for refreshing entertainment. Because he was clamouring, clamouring for my attention. Because I made him promise that he would always entertain the world through dance. And when those wrestlers danced their dances, I was mad at him, and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Vince always knew what was right for me because he is never not right, no matter what history can tell you. I wanted to be wowed by wrestling dances. I had to be, and I didn't care if it took all of Vince's efforts, all of his money, or all of his creativity. It was my stupid need. It was my stupid dream and it is turning him mad. Turn back to the audience. Spotlight fades. Curtains close. Applause.
As of this writing, Montel Vontavious Porter is on the verge of superstardom. One week from now, he will be the D'Lo Brown to Mark Henry's Mark Henry. His "Ballin'" Dance shall be the next "Bob Your Head Around Like Your Neck Is On A Spring." Together, the two will defeat Chris Jericho and The Big Show for the Unified Tag Team Championship, then celebrate by wearing chest protectors made out of sexual chocolate. Unfortunately, MVP and Henry will split weeks later when Henry accuses Porter of using a poor quality sexual chocolate to construct their chest protectors. MVP can't be going around, making chest protectors with poor quality sexual chocolate. Along with Henry, he has a reputation to uphold. D'Lo Brown would've used that fancy kind of sexual chocolate.
If you are a fan of the rap music, you will know that MVP's "Ballin'" Dance originates from Jim Jones' "We Fly High (Ballin')." If you are a three-year-old with a three-year-old bladder, you will also know MVP "Ballin'" Dance as your "Bathroom" Dance. Obviously, a three-year-old would not play basketball while desperately looking for a bathroom to use, but don't tell that to a three-year-old. You know those little kids love to shoot imaginary hoops on their way to the urinal. In my opinion, MVP is on to something with his "Ballin'" Dance. As for me, I would love to do this dance, but I'm afraid my real basketball would be jealous of me playing with a non-existent basketball on an invisible hoop.
This past week on RAW, "The All-American American" Jack Swagger impressed America with the newest incarnation of "The All-American American" entrance. Although I am not a Jack Swagger expert, I believe his "Pushups for Pyro" Dance can be described in the following steps:
Step 1: Stroll onto the stage, spreading your arms wide with a smile on your face to proclaim that you love America this much.
Step 2: Celebrate the fact that you are slowly transforming into a modernized Donkey Kong by beating your chest with your mouth wide open. You will get your tie later.
Step 3: Stomp down the ramp with your mouth agape, pretending to have both hands tied behind your back. Who tied your hands behind your back? Anyone who doesn't love America and or the concept of a modernized Donkey Kong.
Step 4:Raise each arm at a 45-degree angle like you’re Captain Planet, flying through the air to save the environment. The emissions from your flight do not count as pollutants.
Step 5:Pushups for pyro and pyrofit.
No matter what I do, I can never summon pyro in my everyday life. I added soup mix to a boiling pot of water for nothing. I attacked a set of twins by throwing one twin at the other, only to be treated to nothing. In my bed, I rolled over without using my hands. After five hours, I thought I saw a pyrotechnic display behind me, but it was nothing but a house fire. I do not understand how Jack Swagger's "Pushups for Pyro" Dance can harness the power of such beautiful and forceful neon explosions. In this mystified state, I applaud him.
Usually, R-Truth goes about his merry day, skipping and jumping through the lush forests of WWE, telling people that they know what time it is. Well, I have a clock. In fact, I have several informative timepieces. Because of R-Truth's "Get Yourself Beat Up By Drew McIntyre" Dance, I think it's about time for R-Truth to get beat up by Drew McIntyre. If R-Truth does not want to get beat up by Drew McIntyre, he should not do this particular dance anymore. When I'm dancing, I do not wish to be attacked at all.
Perhaps R-Truth's lifelong dream is to dance and rap in an arena, then get himself beat up by a larger, Scottish version of The Brian Kendrick. If that is the case, R-Truth is living the dream. I am not one to judge, but that is a horrible lifelong dream. Out of all the lifelong dreams I have known in my life, that is pretty bad. Can't R-Truth get beat up by somebody a bit better, such as Paul Burchill, or the pirate version of Paul Burchill? If I got attacked by the pirate version of Paul Burchill, I could add pirate to the list of people who have whooped me. This list includes a ninja, a samurai, and myself. What is upwards with me, R-Truth? What is upwards with you?
Like young Jackington Swagger, Kofi Kingston can command vivid fireworks through dance. With the rhythmic clapping of his hands, Kingston litters the atmosphere with Jamaican smoke — the kind of smoke that is symbolic of a carefree Jamaican culture who loves their Smokey Robinson, smoked salmon, "Smoke" by Natalie Imbruglia, and... that is it. If the United States Champion's "Thunder Clap" Dance seems familiar, you would be in the right. The "Thunder Clap" is a dancehall music staple up in them Jamaican clubs. I would say that I saw it in Cool Runnings a bunch of times, but I think I just want to believe that the dance was in Cool Runnings. Actually, I think almost everything comes from Cool Runnings.
The next time you are in Jamaica, I hope you bust out this Kofi’s "Thunder Clap" Dance. Not only does the dance get you the Jamaican ladies, you will be pleasing Zibelthiurdos, the thunder god of Eurasia. Zibelthiurdos has done so much for you and Kofi Kingston. According to various sources, he is quite the giving person. Finally, you will be able to thank Zibelthiurdos for his many sacrifices. Meanwhile, Ajisukitakahikone, the thunder god of Japan, will remain pissed.
In the long, long ago, ECW's resident dance machine was one DJ Gabriel, who boogied down to the ring in a leather bomb jacket and sunglasses. By his side, Alicia Fox boogied down with him, creating a chocolate and vanilla swirl of dancing deliciousness. Today, Alicia Fox is on Monday Night RAW, unable to use the precious gift of dance to sit atop the Women's Division. As for DJ Gabriel, he danced well. He danced well enough to disappear off this very planet. One minute, DJ Gabriel was pulling an invisible rope to obtain his lady. The next minute, he was pulled into another dimension, never to be seen again.
What has become of DJ Gabriel? An urban legend insists that if you dance five times in front of your bathroom mirror at midnight, you will see DJ Gabriel dancing behind you. Several witnesses in the Pacific Northwest claim that they saw DJ Gabriel roaming betwixt the lakes and mountain greenery. In Florida, a haggard man in wrestling tights washed up on the shore, sluggishly dancing in a comical circle. If you or someone you know has seen DJ Gabriel, please inform Extreme Championship Wrestling as soon as possible. With your help, we can step up to the streets like never before.
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