the dance party

Reap what you sow, the bastards said. I need more drink, hard drink to get me through this disco nonsense. What is it your playing? Well, songs I never goddamn heard before and they're up at dancing. At this hour? What are the bongos doing in my brain? They beat me up like I've never seen before. Jumping and raving at noise that is made through nothing. Just thought. SWINE! I curse the day I set foot in this jungle of depraved beasts, the maniacs and the mantras. The silly waddle and the circus drones. Where does it all start? Hell, where does it end up? HELL, what am I doing here anyways? I pissed on the floor and made a puddle. Then I tipped toed around it and let the party people reek their havoc. Oh how they danced. The songs. The moment. Fuck the moment and fuck this song nonsense. I dribble harder than this band and I don't sit down when I shit, I squat. But you wouldn't know that unless someone told you. Someone tipped you off, the quarters in the jukebox are futile. I can't believe she cocooned me in some web of deceit and merry mischief. Bask ye all in the glorious fight of the self versus the id. The Freud fuckers and the Jung jumpers. The Dostoevsky and the Howl. Oh retched beat generation with their rancid smells and their porcupine limps. Slobbering on what was once reliable news sources. And there they dance. Like it's nothing to them.  My shirt ripped halfway through and she noticed, she banged the table and I let out a screech and bellow. My heart dropped into it's cockles and I found myself  denounced at the dinner table, asking Ma to pass the cheese after her factory laid her off. And this was just one night!?