Photo Credit William Lamoreaux

Good lord do I love myself a good club night. Nothing gets the blood going quite like the thumping baseline of your favorite stomping songs. As an industrial dancer, I’m particularly partial to anything you could kick someone’s teeth in to. Persistent beats are key for me, and I’m happy as an edgy clam so long as you keep the music coming.

That said, here are some of the things that will get you ‘accidentally’ elbowed off the floor.

#1: The ‘I haven’t seen you in forever let’s take up half the dance floor talking’ guys

I’m a good person.

I pay my taxes.

And I give to charity.

But if you insist on yammering away in a spot that I’ve designated as a perfectly good dancing space, I will immediately imagine the number of ways you could get flattened by the chandelier overhead. Sure that would incapacitate the rest of the floor as we know it, but the point would be made.

Do not get chatty on the dance floor.

The occasional hug and hi are all well and good, but if it breaks into a full blown convo on last night’s head bursting drug-o-kegathon, take it to the patio.

It’s not like you can hear each other without yelling anyway, and it will only get worse after I elbow you in the head.

I swear it’ll look like an accident.

#2: The can’t handle his booze hound

I may be biased because this particular miscreant has a bad habit of fracking up the dance floor with various liquids, but when I see an obviously wasted fracker stumbling around the club like a coked up zombie with drink in hand, the first thing I think is: Hazard. It’s only a matter of time before said walking brain-dead sloshes his way about the floor, making the once dry surface slick with rum and personal failure.

Combine that with the disturbing amount of nudity that generally follows and you have a recipe for the kind of balls out shenanigans that will haunt the waking nightmares of everyone sober enough to remember that said booze hound lost his pants mid shuffle. Sure the bouncers will drag them out, but you’re still left with the flaccid memory.

The tiny, flaccid memory.

We’ve seen things…….Terrible things……. And another point to William Lamoreaux for the picture.

#The has to dance right next to you and stare guy

I don’t know if they’re expecting chances of sex to rise by sheer proximity to me or something, but these people really creep me the hell out. There I’ll be getting my dance on to my favorite songs on a spacious floor big enough to do cartwheels on and these people will jump up next to me as if there’s nothing remotely odd about it. To make things clear, I’m a very violent dancer, so in order to even accomplish this feat, they have to bypass several flailing arms and legs to gain access to my space, whereupon they will plant themselves like parasitic trolls eyeballing up a storm.

It’s as if nothing else exists for them, and after years of wasted attempts at actually talking them down from their freaktastic social tactic, I’ve taken to just dancing harder.

It’s not my fault you got smacked in the nose. That blow to your skull was an accident, and anyone remotely watching will corroborate my story.

Give me another second or two and I’ll fix that staring problem for you.

All broken bones and assault charges aside, that about wraps up my psychotic hatreds for the evening.

Got anything scuffing up your boots lately?

Leave your stories in the comments!

Goodnight and good luck,

-Scarves