Finding the Underground Dance Scene Hollywood Promised Me
"Bucholz this underground dancing craze is huge business," Cracked Editor-In-Chief Jack O'Brien said as I walked in to his office. "No it's not." "No it's not," he agreed. "Nevertheless, someone has inexplicably put out another movie about dancing. Which means that someone out there--women most likely--are watching it." I nodded, understanding where he was going with this. "Cracked needs content written for all the pretty ladies out there." "Exactly. And we need you to write it because" "Because to break this story we'll need someone to go undercover in the illegal dance scene, and as the columnist with the most unchained jungle heat," I said, leaping on to Jack's desk from across the room, "I've got the best chance of making it in and out alive." Jack stared at me for five seconds. "Yes. Because of your quantities of unchained jungle heat. And because you're not doing anything else." "Incorrect," I said, waggling my hips around rhythmically. "I'm doing this." ____ Putting on the most urban outfit I owned, I lunged my way down to the streets and began my search for the underground dance scene. Having conducted extensive research on "the scene" using Cracked's library of breakdancing VHS cassettes, I began searching all the usual places for illicit dance blowouts. I checked the abandoned warehouse, only to find it abandoned. Curious. The spacious loft by the docks was occupied by a software company, whose employees had minimal rhythm. And the subway station had people waiting to travel to various destinations around the city, and not exchanging dangerous dance attacks with each other. Was it possible that I was ridiculously out of touch with the day's youth? I was spared the answer ("Holy Shit, Yes") when I stumbled upon an ad stapled to a telephone pole for a breakdancing class at the adult learning annex. So that's where the youth of today spent their time! Edgy. And, at $59 for three 90-minute sessions, a good value. Thrift could also be edgy it seemed. ___ "Hello. My name is Chris Bucholz, and my style is Danger Pharaoh Sitcom," I announced to the assembled dance crew, silently praying they'd accept me as one of their own. "This is a sequence I call the Everybody Loves Ra-mond." I exploded a series of probably fantastic limb movements and face thrusts, building up what I imagined to be a really incredible sex-energy in the room, before finishing with a move I call the "Standing Leap." I stood there panting in the middle of the room, gauging the dance crew's reaction. "That's very enthusiastic of you," the dance crew's leader, our instructor Kathy, said. I nodded, agreeing with her. "Thank you, Sensai." My heat had impressed her. The rest of the class elected to introduce themselves without any demonstrative moves, possibly cowed by my savage dance rhythm, but not, as you might expect, cowed by the sight of me flopping out of my gym shorts. I had taken precautions in that area, and following the advice of a couple friendly guys on a breakdancing forum, had securely taped my genitals to my body, just like the pros. ___ "So when's our first dance battle?" I asked Kathy after we had concluded for the day, having worked on some fairly elementary moves like the top rock and the drop. It was all pretty basic. On the whole, the experience was quite a bit less underground that I would have hoped, although being in the basement of the adult learning annex, I allowed that it was technically below-grade. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," Kathy replied. "A dance battle," I responded. "Surely this dance crew desperately needs money to buy one of our dance comrades a new knee, or save the local dance octagon from a crooked land developer. We must be prepping for a no-holds barred dance competition against our hated enemy dance troupe with a huge winner-takes-all cash prize at stake?