By Scott Sullivan
Editor
The Twerk
“You don’t twerk, it won’t work,” said my daughter.
Huh?
“Stoop, thrust your hips back and shake your butt to New Orleans bounce music.”
I know what ‘twerk’ is, I said. What is “work”? Dance I can do. Tap, tango, macarena … Work? It’s supposed to be hard, but writing won’t if I don’t play at it. So I go t’werk each day.
“You should retire,” she said.
Not let my light shine?
“Your cellulite show,” she said.
You’re not selling me Light, I shouted. Not Bud Light.
“Here it comes,” she rolled her eyes.
Me and the boys was watchin’ NASCAR when Jr. said some trans was promotin’ Bud Light on Instagram. Call Kid Rock! We’ll fire rounds at cans,” I said.
“What’s wrong with expanding your brand past troglodytes?
We boycott boy-girls in these parts, I shouted. Judy Garland revival and figure skating ads, OK. Not men’s sports. Keep yer hands off our cans, trans!
BLAM!
Kid Rock’s here? I asked.
“No, Bubba Lou hit the far wall!” said Jr. “Steel, glass, body parts — Which one’s Bubba? Which one’s Lou? — flyin.’ This is tragic. Show the replay!”
“Something’s tragic,” my daughter said.
Time Warp Again
Twerking stands for freedom, I said, like the late Jerry Springer did for journalism. No dance, no romance. Valerie Dixon, 27, was locked up recently in Lake County, Fla. for twerking and swearing in front of a school bus. How else are kids s’posed to learn?
Up drove a school bus; out popped Betsy DeVos. “The older generations,” said Donald Trump’s ex-education don, or prima donna, “are too wedded to political parties, to romantic memories of what education was like when they were kids, and to the status quo group that clings to power.”
You should know, I said. Can you twerk?”
Betsy and I started getting down and Dylan Mulvaney joined us. S/he eyeballed me: “What do you do?”
Disaster rescue.
“You’re a hero?” s/he gushed.
First I have to cause them. Let’s all go to Pullman Tavern.
As we hopped on the bus to P.T. with the schoolkids, Val Dixon stood in our way. Cursing and grinding hips next to her were John Gibbs and Ottawa County First.
“First to go back to the last century wins,” he exulted.
You moved to Byron Centerfor what, five minutes, to shoot down Pete Meijer and turn a century-old Republican lock district democratic, now to Ottawa? I asked.
“We have the top population growth in state,” said the new implant. “What does that tell you?”
No one does birth control?
“We believe in abstinence.”
How’s that working? I asked. Let’s see. Population up 38,000 since 2010.
“Not one an illegal immigrant,” he said.
Oh?
“And Wayne County’s losing numbers.”
Lots of ways to interpret that, I said.
Val, John and cohorts joined us. At the P.T. “The Rocky Horror Picture Show” cast was waiting. “Bud Light,” Dylan ordered. On TV crash cleanup crews sorted out Lou from Bubba from mud, blood and beer.
“White wine,” ordered John.
“What kind of sissy beer is that?” Val demanded. After more brews and bruises, all made up and started twerking.
Variations on Sameness
“Don’t be it, dream it,” RHPS star Frank-N-Furter told Dylan. “In seven days I can make you a man.”
“Me too?” asked Gibbs eagerly.
“Chardonnay?” Riff Raff sniffed. “With a bit of a mind flip …
“You’re into a time slip,” sang Betsy. “Let’s do the Time Warp Again!”
WHAM!
Kid Rock’s here? I asked
“Dylan hit the far wall” exclaimed Jr.
So he is here.”
“Romeo!” Gibbs sighed.
“I was born there,” said the MAGA-capped Michigan rapper.
“I was in Juliet …” Gibbs swooned.
“No you weren’t,” Kid Rock spat. “No one knows where you’re from. Pelvic Thrust drive you insane?”
“Show the mercenary mercy,” Val defended. “Someone paid to anoint him.”
“Let there be Light!” cried Anheuser Busch officials who fired whatever marketing staff hired Dylan and got the brand girlcotted.
So there is redemption. God bless America. Let’s do the Time Warp again, I said.