Dance Off!
So I decided on a new method of conflict resolution in my life. It turns out that jamming a rabid howler monkey down someone else's pants comes under Massachusetts General Law section 43 part 97, "Felony Assault with a Farm Implement" Plus it's hard to find a store that reliably carries rabid howler monkeys.
Once my attorney got the charges reduced to "Malicious Fondling of a Root Vegetable" I decided I needed a new coping skill. So after some meditation in front of VH1, I decided that from now on I'd resolve my conflicts using that ancient and time honored method, the Dance Off! If it's good enough for Justin and Britney, it's damn well good enough for me.
Oh, and for the record, the correct spelling of Dance Off! includes the exclamation point. Otherwise it's just stupid.
So this morning I had a chance to put my plan in motion. Development wanted to change one of my document headings from "Importing Templates" to "Downloading Templates" And I looked at that developer, put down my howler monkey, and said "Oh it's on baby, it's on!"
And then I threw back my head and screamed the magic words, "DANCE OFF!"
Out of nowhere, a driving techno beat began, quickening my pulse. I started in with some light vogueing. I wanted to lull the developer into false sense of security.
The developer stood silent for a moment, before snapping his finger in a Z shaped motion. "Oh! You did NOT just go there!" He immediately began busting moves so phresh that I began to doubt myself.
And battle was joined. The developer was quickly joined by the forces of the Marketing department and QA. I was backed by Release Engineering and Professional Services. The dancing was frantic. Styles appeared, clashed, fused and burned.
The soundtrack shifted and changed. We went through house, acid, trance, jungle, techno, acid house, and polka. It was during the polka that the tide of dance shifted in my favor.
As you can see, a security camera caught some of the action.
In this picture, you can see how one of the Marketing minions is brought down by some of my spicier Latin dance rhythyms. I call that particular move Salsa de los Pantalones.
Not every man can work Salsa de los Pantalones into the Beer Barrel Polka, but that's the kind of guy I am.
Her fall turned out to the turning point of the engagement. When she went down, Development's left flank was open, and the 11th hip hop brigade was able to move into position. After that, it was just clean up.
The dust settled, and the developer admitted defeat. And then, to show how magnanimous in victory I can be, I stuffed a rabid howler monkey down his pants.
LM
Once my attorney got the charges reduced to "Malicious Fondling of a Root Vegetable" I decided I needed a new coping skill. So after some meditation in front of VH1, I decided that from now on I'd resolve my conflicts using that ancient and time honored method, the Dance Off! If it's good enough for Justin and Britney, it's damn well good enough for me.Oh, and for the record, the correct spelling of Dance Off! includes the exclamation point. Otherwise it's just stupid.
So this morning I had a chance to put my plan in motion. Development wanted to change one of my document headings from "Importing Templates" to "Downloading Templates" And I looked at that developer, put down my howler monkey, and said "Oh it's on baby, it's on!"
And then I threw back my head and screamed the magic words, "DANCE OFF!"
Out of nowhere, a driving techno beat began, quickening my pulse. I started in with some light vogueing. I wanted to lull the developer into false sense of security.
The developer stood silent for a moment, before snapping his finger in a Z shaped motion. "Oh! You did NOT just go there!" He immediately began busting moves so phresh that I began to doubt myself.
And battle was joined. The developer was quickly joined by the forces of the Marketing department and QA. I was backed by Release Engineering and Professional Services. The dancing was frantic. Styles appeared, clashed, fused and burned.
The soundtrack shifted and changed. We went through house, acid, trance, jungle, techno, acid house, and polka. It was during the polka that the tide of dance shifted in my favor.
As you can see, a security camera caught some of the action.
In this picture, you can see how one of the Marketing minions is brought down by some of my spicier Latin dance rhythyms. I call that particular move Salsa de los Pantalones.
Not every man can work Salsa de los Pantalones into the Beer Barrel Polka, but that's the kind of guy I am.
Her fall turned out to the turning point of the engagement. When she went down, Development's left flank was open, and the 11th hip hop brigade was able to move into position. After that, it was just clean up.
The dust settled, and the developer admitted defeat. And then, to show how magnanimous in victory I can be, I stuffed a rabid howler monkey down his pants.
LM
posted by Lance Manion at 12:59 PM
5 Comments:
Bustin' some mad PHAT moves, pal. Sweet! Bustin' some mad PHAT polka moves, automatic winner.
I love that he did that "oh no you didn't" finger move. That's classic.
That you in the skirt, or what?
Una falda would add a touch of irony to the "los pantalones" theme.
A Dance Off! is a viable alternative (or compliment) to stuffing a rabbid howler monkey down someone's pants. However, you need to beware. In Certain departments, especially IT and QA departments, there seems to be a disproportionate number of people who-for want of a better term-I call Napoleons.
Napoleons are the preverbial "Nuclear Option" in Dance Off! warfare. I mean, have you seen the movie???
The guy's like Dance Off! Rambo!
It's the polka that always brings it home, Sara. No one ever sees it coming. They didn't even include it "So You Think You Can Dance." Bastards.
Ari, it's called a kilt, dammit. And I just like the extra freedom. It's strictly a comfort thing.
Fortunately, IT elected to remain neutral. Mostly, I think due to my discretion in a certain matter I like to refer to as "Totally busting the IT manager looking at anime tentacle porn."
That is the IT manager's weakness, a prediliction for freakish hentai. A powerful lever to be used in any potentially dangerous situation, like when you run out of coffee and don't want to get more.
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