My Justification For Attending The So You Think You Can Dance Tour Last Night

When I was little, my older sister would bully me into playing her games instead of mine. This meant that instead of playing Spiderman and the Deadly Lava Pit of Doom, we would play My Little Pony Goes Shopping. I would cry to my mom that we just played My Little Pony Goes Shopping yesterday and now it was my turn, and besides it doesn’t make any sense because the ponies always buy the same three shirts anyway. (Nevermind that the ponies were wearing shirts in the first place, or that my game involved lava and a man with spider abilities.)

In response, my mom would always say the same thing: Sometimes having fun means sticking your dick in your pack pocket and pretending you have a vagina for a little while.

Of course that’s not what she really said. What she really said was something more like, “Mommy can’t help because she’s busy playing Mommy right now, which, despite whatever your father says, IS A JOB.”

But over the years I’ve read between the lines enough to understand the underlying truth that fun isn’t always testosterone filled nights of laughing at homeless people and climbing things. Sometimes fun is gay. (It’s why they call it gay, after all.) And gay means watching reality TV stars dance around a stage for two hours. It means witnessing a grown man fist-pump a perfectly executed pas de deux. It means being surrounded by so many screaming girls that that you’d think you just crashed a slumber party with a chainsaw. It means, at the end of the day, admitting to yourself that “You Can’t Stop The Beat” from Hairspray is one fuck of a catchy tune, and to say otherwise is to commit self-deception on par with most diagnosable mental diseases. And if having a big dick means anything, it means being true to yourself. Hence, why I attended the So You Think You Can Dance Tour last night.

P.S. For further clarification please refer to banner picture. Oh Kherington, how I ahdore your fhirm tush.