My eyes are red rimmed. My nose is runny. I am a little nauseous because I am a little drunk. I’m typing as quietly as I can so as not to disturb Sydney, my slumbering friend, sleeping in bed to my left. Outside my door, I can hear Alisha, my roommate and her.. er.. friend, Alex, canoodling. My mutt & sole companion in this world, Rusty, is nuzzled warmly at my feet. He’s hates when I drink, but he’s appreciative that I’m writing so I’ll assume he’s showing affection & not just chilly. My turtle, Splinter is also asleep. He lives in a tank on the right hand side of my bed. Today I let him loose in my room & lost him for about an hour. My drunk friends & I found him in the giant dirty laundry pile in the back of my walk-in closet. I have just returned from a party where I was less of a guest and more of a shuttle. However, my physical shuttle, a 1999, gold, Buick Century, was being towed from it’s parking place as I returned to it after a quick trip inside to the bathroom/final retrieval of my friends. A heartfelt plea to the tow truck driver about my financial situation, (“I just paid my rent today. It was two weeks late. I will probably be overdrawn. I am so very poor.”) proved worthless & my drunk roommate, Alisha, ended up paying the $50 to have my car lowered. But to fully explain, to fully convey and justify my emotional state, I must start from the beginning. Can you bear it? Bare with me.
Everyone I know is so fucking stupid. Not me, though. I’ve got it all together. I am well rounded in the areas I care about, I have principles and ideas that support my decision to drop out of college and serve as an excuse to work an hourly wage job. I let my dog do whatever he wants in my 700 square foot shit-hole of an apartment, so I’m basically even qualified to be a parent. I just wish I didn’t have to put up with every other dickhead on this planet. That cop that gave me a speeding ticket on my dad’s birthday when I was on the way home to see my family for Christmas probably did it out of spite. He probably works double shifts and neglects his family to wait on sides of roads and point his radar gun at millennials. And my landlord is probably sitting in her beach home, bathing in champagne and laughing at how I pay $1000 to live in, what was 6 months ago, a $300 apartment. Don’t even get me started on my boss…ES. That’s right—I have more than one superior at work. & I think I’ve somehow managed to piss off every single one of them. But they’re practically slave drivers. You’d swear they expect you to work for money.
Twerking is about the butt, and the butt is really a human autapomorphy. It’s a unique structure that other animals lack.
Possibly the most definitive article you will read about the animal kingdom twerking this morning.
(Also worth noting: the word twerk has appeared on the NPR website 22 times since April.)