If you’ve been alive for at least 20 years in a first world country, you’ve heard of Fatboy Slim. You’ve worked it out to “The Rockafeller Skank” and felt those chords from “Praise You” down in the depths of your very soul. You’ve danced around alone in your room to “Brimful of Asha” (oh you haven’t? Well you should give it a go because it’s goddamn fantastic) and you’ve seen the iconic music videos directed by Spike Jonze. And it’s especially lucky for all of us alone-and-also-in-a-crowded-room dancers that he’ll be bringing all of these moveable/shakeable megahits and more to 9:30 Club this Friday night. Oh… and we’ve got one pair of tickets just for you.
We know you love to dance. All you have to do is tell us the most ridiculous, outlandish place you’d bust a move à la Christopher Walken in “Weapon of Choice” (arguably the greatest music video of all time, for what we hope are obvious reasons).
Come on an’ break it on down.
I’d love to float down like he does from the viewing seats and into the Senate gallery while they’re in session. I’d probably get shot, but totally worth it.
In front of the Jefferson Memorial, even though it is illegal. < (^__^<)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQt7CFXYlyc
Craziest place? Maybe an inauguration if I can get close enough to the stage. I’d definitely get tackled and tasered, but maybe I could bust out some Elaine (From “Seinfeld”) moves on the ground, and keep boogieing. Broadcasted across the world, sorta like Soy-Bomb, right? Right.
Obviously, I would build a time machine and travel back in time to take the place of Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing. Christopher Walken would play Johnny.
Probably somewhere where there’s a lot of people, like the Metro or a transit bus, just to gauge reactions and witness potential craziness.
I would drop my towel at Spa World and prance around naked grooving to it hardcore style. awwww yeah
I’d like to do it down the tail of a t rex, just like my man Fred Flintstone.
To do it any other way would just be blasphemous! But if i ccould, it would do it during a Pop stars concert just to show them what real talent is and upstage them to death…
i’d fake my death and dance out of my open casket. after all the eulogies so that people are as mad as possible and it’s a greater achievement when none of them can help dancing along.
White House lawn, of course
I’d bust a move at the Taj Mahal, just sounds like a fun place to dance at!
I’d lasso the tip of the Washington monument, strap myself into some rope climbing gear and dance my way up, sideways. Tell me its not possible.
With my fan-man pack strapped to my back I would pull off some of the sweetest moves the Queen of England has ever seen…and then fly off to safety before the guards could get me.
When you’re sitting in the middle of a mind-numbingly boring meeting, listening to your boss’ endless love for listening to themself talk, who doesn’t get the urge to bust out the Walken right on the conference room table now and again?
I’ll bald-bust that $#!+ out all illish by the poundload at this year’s Cherry Blossomfest, yo! For Reals!
My grandma’s funeral. :’(
At a food court, so people would have some entertainment. Tyson’s Corner Mall would provide an awesome space with enough of an audience!!
Imagine: George W. and Barbara Bush wake from a fitful sleep (they can’t figure out why One Direction is dominating iTunes) to see
me.
“Mornin’ B! Mornin’ G!” I call from the foot of their King-size rancher bed.
George snaps awake, yowls, “What the tarnation fuck stick is goin’ on!?!” and reaches for his pellet gun (Daddy Bush won’t give him the real thing).
Then I break it down like I can’t help myself. Like a steady stream of alcohol, caffeine and marijuana’s pumping through me. Like a nasty bass beat is on the verge of rupturing my lungs. I’m in ecstasy.
Barbara sleeps through all of this.
W feels his foot twitching, bobs his shoulders a little, and feels nervousness well up inside. He hasn’t even had his coffee yet, hasn’t eaten his morning Ostrich egg out of his cowboy hat. But he makes a leap of faith out of bed and joins me.
We rage.
I’d swivel my hips and do some out of this world jazzercise moves on the moon!
Right after I bust a nut, I bust out in this dance on the bed, standing over my horrified partner.
Glorious half-time show.
THE OLD FOLKS’ HOME WHERE I VOLUNTEERED IN HIGH SCHOOL. THEY COULD USE SOME ENTERTAINMENT, AND I’M SURE IT WOULD BE A GOOD LAST MEMORY. (MAYBE SOMEONE WOULD JOIN IN)
I picture it going down like this: I ‘m on the operating table about to undergo emergency surgery to remove a brain tumor. The surgeon on-call wanted to go to the Fatboy Slim show, but he has to perform emergency surgery on me, so he can’t make it. He decides to put on a Fatboy Slim record while he operates.. All of a sudden, just as he’s about to cut me open, I wake up and dance so hard the tumor just gives up and dies. With all of the time saved from not having to perform surgery(and with a killer morphine buzz) we both go to the show and party all night. THE END.
I want to dance on top of the White House while smoking a joint. Willie Nelson style!
On top of the White House Willie Nelson style with a doobie in my hand.
If George W. was in bed with Barbara Bush, he’d be sleeping with his mother. Not that I’d put it past him.
Thomas Jefferson Memorial. In honor of my man Adam Kokesh (Google it). You bring a boombox and a camera. And Fatboy Slim tickets. And Christopher Walken. And I will bring the moves.
Nearing the end of three days and six hours of total arguments in regards to the U.S. Supreme Court’s review of the healthcare law, my dancing feet take the stand (stage). Billed as a lobbyist knowledgeable on the topic of “How to Stay Healthy in Everyday Life,” I finish my argument with the words “…and all we Americans really need in this critical time of our history is….TO DANCE!” My ensuing back flip handspring onto the courtroom table shocks just about everyone in the room, save for Justice Scalia, who simply nods his head and begins a dance-off that even our Founding Father’s couldn’t top. Me and Scalia trade moves for about 20 minutes, mixing in various elements of the cultures that make this country so great. Breakdancing. Square Dancing. Salsa. The double toed moonwalk hip-shake into a headstand. It was all there. A stellar improvised beatboxing display by Clarence Thomas’ keeps the time and provides the rhythm. The whole room gets in on it now with rivaling politicos, associate justices and members of the media all feeding off the energy. Chief Justice Roberts comes up with the brilliant idea of using the gavel as a drum mallet to keep time. The rest of the justices and myself then lock arms and begin Riverdancing at a blistering pace. Smiles all around, papers and documents flying aimlessly in the air, the allotted time for the hearing ends. Everyone brushes themselves off, shakes hands and says their goodbyes. For tomorrow they all know that they’ll have to wake up living the same old boring, tediously strenuous lives they had from before.
After I’ve awkwardly had sex with some girl I just met. In my drunken stupor I’d assume that dancing while walking away naked would make things less uncomfortable.
I would use my dance to get myself some tickets!
Float into the Brightest Young Things offices, blind everyone with my dance moves, snag the tickets while they are all distracted — and ride out the door on the back on Bo the dog (he’s cool with it, we’re best friends and all that. Fist pound.)
YOU ARE ALL AMAZING. Keep ‘em comin’.
(that’s what she said….?)
In the middle of a public bath house.
At the International Monetary Fund (IMF) while I was waiting for a meeting..
If I have my headphones on, I cannot help to move in some way!!
I thought “Brimful of Asha” was Cornershop????
I SMELL A FUCKING SUIT?? WHO THE FUNK IS BREIJO???
Also, how do I enter this contest?
Hey Lunchbox, he remixed it (and super fucking well), hence why it’s in this post.
You can enter the contest by reading the post like everyone else did! Happy trails, Breijo.
Naked before work in my house on the way to grabbing my freshly baked spinach quiche. I see no other way to get pumped up for my 9-5 in my gov cubicle.
On the circulator bus, obviously and all over Union station…. At any or all of the Congressional Caucuses at convention center, but preferably at the White House Correspondent’s Dinner or America Eats Tavern or the bleachers at the Verizon Center during a rodeo. Bonus points for the bar at The Old Ebbit Grill–TAP DAT SHIT OUT.
would’ve snuck into the filming of the yoga dvd for P90X; jumped out midway thru and showed them how to get down boi.
Bust a move: 1st debate between the president and Sarah Palin to see who is president. I could dance over the crowd. That would be cool Beavis.
The song begins as I open the automatic door with a wave of my hand. And at the second door, a quick twirl sends me prancing into the produce section. With basket in hand, I weave through several attractive customers and lob various breakable/messy items in and out. After several scenes of destructive antics in the aisles, the staff bands together to subdue the one responsible for the domino rally effect created by a dancer atop the shelves. After dashing and dodging the clerks, baggers, and a butcher, I grab a novelty sized ice cream bucket, a few boxes of gum and skip out the automatic doors with a click of my heels.
I would burst into random dancing during a Republican campaign session. Just because…