Butterfly Judges Shuffling Contest
If you’ve been an avid reader of my blog, you’d know that way before LMFAO ignited a nation into a shuffle frenzy and before lactic acid forced fatigue into my aging muscles, I was a huge fan of the Melbourne Shuffle as chronicled in my memoirs of the immense merits it had to hooking up strangers.
So when Powerhouse staged a shuffling competition, it was only befitting that I took to the stage, as a judge. There is nothing better in life than sitting on a platform and critiquing people for their valiant efforts in crowd pleasing and showboating.
Thing is, I’ve never really like how much shuffling has become over the years and I’ve a simple philosophy to that. It’s not about how well you dance, but how good you look while doing it. Which is why I think over-elaborate hand-movements and body jerks might look good while you are doing a flash mob or having a seizure, it’s never suited for the clubs.
I’ll be honest. I enjoy laughing at people dance because I am a terrible human being and I was actually hoping this would decompose into a mimicry of a Singapore Idol audition, complete with failing lungs and two left feet. So I was disappointed to discover that this was the actual finals and it would take some level of competency to even be on stage.
But I was wrong. God was going to be kind to be an uplift my spirits.
Majority of the contestants had prowess that stretched beyond the novice side shuffles. Some possessed technically sound glides and kicks. And a couple had a well choreographed routine with coupling track to dance along. But two of them left me the biggest smile.
The first was a guy who came on stage and for a better half of his performance, I had my head tilted to the side wondering if he was trying to keep his balance because the floor was slippery or perhaps it was the stage buckling under the reverberating bass, because it looked like he was having a crotch infection more than he was shuffling.
I paused for a long time, frowning in anticipation for him to start his real routine. And when I finally realized that he was actually dancing, I did what normal people would do.
I know it is unethical for a judge to be laughing in the face of effort and courage to take the stage, but I am a flawed human being and I have no qualms about laughing at people. The other guys around started nudging me.
"You are a fucker man.”
I don’t think so. It’s like sitting through an entire porn flick without being allowed to have an erection or jeer at the Paralympics. I am terribly flawed.
When he ended his set, I was hoping for the others to emulate him, because had this been a Stand Up Comedy contest, he would have had it in the bag within the first minute. But no, more competent shufflers came up which pretty much the same moves and I thought that the best part of my night had ended with him.
No. God was favourable to me that night.
One of the contestants had pulled out and in his place, the emcee had gotten a girl from the audience. Or maybe she volunteered herself because without coaxing, she charged up the stage with enough enthusiasm to Richard Simmons to shame.
This was a girl, in a tight fitting short dress, in one of those slippers with a stubbed heel and she looked like she was the poster girl for anorexia. She started out with a lot of jumping which seemed like she was having a charismatic praise and worship session, but as she continued, I didn’t know what was more worrying; her bones breaking or her panties that were exposed more frequently than the beat of the music.
I figured that was the only reason the loudest cheers in the club were from the people just in front of the stage. I gave her high marks for technicality only because of her attire and pretty decent scores for presentation because maybe she was actually up there to promote her underpants.
When that all ended, I rewarded my hard work with a bottle of vodka and a lot of Red Bull. Being a judge is exhausting.