While attending an alumni function at a local university, my old man Grandpa Richard accidentally walked into the institution’s students’ centre and immediately froze on his tracks. What the pensioner saw shocked him to the core. My comrades were flailing around like retarded rabbits hopped up on rabies and hormones, engaging in an asinine revelry in the name of dancing.
“Until then, I thought that I’d seen the worst of human profanity,” The old man later complained to me. “I am now convinced that college is a cesspool of debauchery and moral denigration.”
My old man is right. The problem with my comrades is that they do not know how to dance. They have failed to invent any form of dancing that upholds common sense and decency. Those miscreants engage in extremely asinine moves on the dance floor, all of which are perverted and reek of putrid moral profligacy.
There’s this unsound style that’s particularly common in all the shebeens in town that my comrades visit. They call it grinding. It basically involves a person mauling the nether parts of an opposite (and sometimes same) sex using their own private parts. Most often than not, it leads to involuntary emissions, soiling of one’s undergarments and all sorts of egregious excitements. In our homestead, if you wanted to grind, Grandpa Richard would have sent you off to the furthest poshomill with a sack full of dry maize.
Then there is an equally asinine dance called daggering, and its sister called bend-over. I hear the former was banned in Jamaica as it was responsible for too many broken male organs. Tell me comrades, when you are performing the bend-over, what exactly are you bending over? Your body or your morals? Or both?
The latest addition to this vacuous trend is a dance they call twerking. Twerking is defined by the Urban Dictionary as “The rhythmic gyrating of the lower fleshy extremities in a lascivious manner with the intent to elicit sexual arousal or laughter in ones intended audience.” This dance, popularized by American superstar Miley Cyrus, has gotten desperate girls (and a few men) twerking their morals away in clubs around our campuses.
The music that my comrades dance to does little to discourage this kind of moral decadence. Singers today just can’t string proper or sensible lyrics, even if their lives depended on it. What they call music nowadays is oblivious of the concepts of commonsense, decency, civility and morality.
My old man grandpa Richard cannot condone any form of dancing that involves more than touching the tips of fingers. And when he is in a mood for a jig (which is not often), he prefers to engage in head-banging. He claims that it is a good way to exercise your brains. “The dances that you kids engage in nowadays scare me stiff,” laments grandpa. “It seems to me like some ‘Dini ya Misambwa’ cult initiation.”
They mistake pornography for choreography, these comrades of mine.