Dear Internet Friends,
Please do not post one more damn video of you, your dog or your grandmother doing the Harlem Shake. You've spammed my Facebook with videos of you shaking your goods in a Power Ranger costume, holding some sort of very phallic pool noodle.
We shouldn't know each other that well.
I'm not saying it wasn't fun while it lasted, but this gyrating affair needs to come to an end before we're both bitter.
When you first busted in on my screen and offered me an escape from productivity at work, I'll admit that I bit. I was interested in the goods. Your carefree style offered me a brief reprieve from my cube, and I was tempted to jump in on your impromptu dance party.
The second time you peeped over at me from the screen, trying to lure me into your web with your promises, it bordered on slightly moronic. Seen one video of dudes mimicking a seizure, seen 'em all.
By the fifth video, I was tempted to take baseball bat to my monitor to make it stop.
And now, because interwebs likes to hijack shit and beat it to death with a hammer, the Harlem Shake is currently at about 63,000 videos on YouTube, which means you didn't get my "stop this shit, it's killing my brain" memo or anyone else's.
I'm going to lay it all out for you. When Ryan Seacrest is hopping on your meme, it's time to shut things the fuck down. Plus, seriously, if you're dressed like a giant chicken or an alien and documenting your suburban white-boy dance moves for all to see, I'm going to try to put a 5150 hold on your ass just to make it stop. It's for your own good.
However, being the realist that I am, I realize that despite my whining, this so-called dance isn't going anywhere for a long while, because those 62,000 videos will somehow keep multiplying like Gremlins. Being the Mother Teresa of the Internet that I am, I've spent the latter part of my morning finding a way to make those reproductions tolerable.
Here's what I've come up with, so listen up. I'm about to change your life. I've developed a new game that I like to call the "Where's Waldo, Air-Hump Style." See, when you throw a bunch of uncoordinated folks in a room and instruct them to dance, at least one of them air-humps. It's a well-known fact, as evidenced at family holidays once grandma gets a couple of glasses of wine in her.
So instead of killing brain cells by watching all of the dumbasses try to wobble uncontrollably, you search the room for the dude who skates past everyone seeing his lack of coordination by air-humping the shit out of nothing at all.
His dance moves are simple. Swing forward, ease back. Everyone loves the air-hump dance. Sometimes they aim it at objects, sometimes at people, but generally it's just humping at the air.
It takes these epileptic videos to a whole new level of fun. Zero to 60 in one swift move of the air-hump. Air-humpin', savin' lives.
Can't find the air humper in this video?
Oh! There they are!
Too dumbfounded by the guy in the chicken suit?
Oh! The air humper IS the guy in the chicken suit! You fooled me!
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