9. You Go Dancing

No,

   I don't mean if your wife has ever drug you out to the club, or you had to partake in the electric slide at your sister's wedding to that douche bag Brad last summer. I mean if you've ever gone out with the express reason to dance...to "feel the music" or to "break somethin off." If you ever have the unsupressable desire to hear the latest cut from Lada Gaga or Flo Rida you've lost your all access pass to Manville. In fact you don't even deserve the upper terrace reserve tickets. I know, you think that girls may find it impressive when a man can "tear up the dance floor" but unconsciously we all know this..."that guy doesn't just 'know' how yo do this stuff, he has to practice some where...At home...alone...in front of the mirror at his studio apartment." 

Why is this the physical activity that you choose to spend your time trying to hone? At what moment in your adolescence did you go from playing catch and 1 on 1 to working on your "top rock" or attempting to "pop" and/or "lock?" You know what's more impressive than knowing how to rock it at the club? Having a steady job, self respect and dignity. The stench of a lonely, self loathing dance machine is impossible to cover up with any cologne known to modern man. Here is some advice, take off the dance shoes and learn how to draw female attention without becoming the most effeminate thing in the room.

Josh...

Oh yeah. I’m feeling the groove tonight, boys. Put down your cards, it’s time to fold ‘em. Finish up your beers, and turn off the game. Grab your jean jackets and break out that swagger, my friends. Tonight…we dance.

Look…guys don’t go dancing. In fact, we barely dance at all. Sure, we nod along to the beat if we like the song, maybe even a tap of the foot or knee, but we sure as hell don’t have any need to “hit the dance floor” or “bust a groove.” Guys get dragged onto the dance floor by girls, and we’re momentarily okay with that, mainly because our primary dance partner is the cold beverage in our hand, with a close second going to the stranger of the moment rubbing her inebriated posterior into our exterior. About the only dancing you’re going to get out of most guys is an awkward drunken dry-hump in a smoke-filled dive bar, followed by a slobbering stutter of a pick-up line and the reception of a fake number as she hammers out the first random grouping of digits she can think of, only for you to realize that there aren’t 17 numerals in a phone number, dumbass. But hey, that guy from Sweden was actually kind of nice.

Ahem.

What I’m awkwardly trying to say here is simply that guys don’t “go dancing.” We are occasionally forced into it to appease the ol’ ball and cha..I, uh, mean the significant other, and to make sure the family gets all the appropriate photo ops at Sol’s Bar Mitzvah. Guys go to the club to get drunk and watch other people dance. And by people, I mean girls. So pull up a bar stool with some pals and take in the scenery, and stop ruining it for the rest of us.

Oh, and by girls, I mean strippers.

In closing, lose the Lance Bass and JC Chasez obsessions and come back to glitterless world of manhood. Steve McQueen never went dancing, he just drove his Corvette straight into your mother's bedroom for for a different kinda of Mamba. Did you ever see Paul Newman out dancing? No, he hustled your dad for his week's pay and then put his cigarette out you old man's seltzer and said, "This here pool hall is for the big boys. If you can't handle it, I suggest you stick to your local Boys and Girls Club."

-Will Saulsbery and Josh Yakovitz