and pokey too

Stop the press!

Forget everything you’ve ever learned about the tale of how the propane bombs were planted at Columbine High. We all know how slick and cool REB and VoDkA  came across in the famous scene of Zero Hour. They strolled into the Commons with fierce purpose shrouded in their uber school shooter dark aesthetic: black trench coats, combat boots and shades carrying their pièce de résistance bombs in their “bags of terrorism” (yes, they referred to them as that).  Casually kneeling down and setting their instruments of terror with ease right in front of their peers. 

But in reality?  

Well, reality paints a very different picture demonstrating how banal the entire thing looked. Amazingly ordinary and casual..yet as we’ll later learn, they almost look a little too slow pokey considering their very tight schedule.

I lightened these images up and sharpened them as well.

‘Eric’ approaching the column from the left
wobbling a bit with his orange gym bag held in his right hand

A wild ‘Dylan’ lopes forth approaching the column from the left
carrying his navy blue gym bag in his left hand

slowed down…

Here be some ordinary looking dudes hauling their heavy but lethal gym bags near the columns in the cafeteria. ‘Eric’s’ small frame is struggling a slight bit barely managing to prevent the bag from coming into contact with objects or people walking by. The two are having no trouble being themselves, looking effortlessly awkward yet casual af while ironically implementing something deadly.. 

Of course, we didn’t really expect that level of dramatic professionalism from Eric and Dylan now did we?  Nah.. Not really.  

This is going to be long. so read on under the cut. :)   

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hey. First off, you are incredibly talented and amazing. Second, I don't know if you've done this or one like this, but how would the Skeleguys react to S/O accidentally seeing them shirtless? (Like they walked in on him changing or something)

*Here’s the link to Red’s crush walking in on him shirtless


Sans isn’t downstairs, and he isn’t responding when you call him, so you decide to check his room and see if he’s there.  You’ve never actually been in his room, but the fabricated magical flames licking from beneath the door has always made you so damn curious.  So.. instead of knocking, you decide to try the doorknob.  One peek couldn’t hurt, right?

Inside, the room is not a roaring inferno, much to your disappointment.  Instead, it’s a simple room: a small mattress in the corner, a desk along the wall, a skeleton changing shirts, a treadmill with some sort of note taped to it, and a self-sustaining tra–

Wait.  Back up.

Sans is standing in the middle of the room, his white T-shirt stretched across his forearms.  He was in the middle of taking it off, so his torso is completely bare.  You do what any normal person would do in this situation.

You silently stare, rooted to the spot.  You forgot how to move.

Luckily, Sans doesn’t make this awkward.  "uh, hey. welcome to my room. sorry if it’s a little bare bones.“  He wags his bony brows, and you start to snap back into reality.  "should i put on some music or something?” Sans starts to move his hips back and forth, and then he takes his arms fully out of his shirt and gives it a languid twirl around his head.  Your face slowly starts to become hot.  You’re gawking.  

“I, I just.. um.. I called, and you didn’t–”

He chuckles, waving a dismissive hand as he drops the dirty shirt unceremoniously on the floor and begins digging for a new one.  "s'no problem.“

As much as you wish Sans would pretend it never happened, he’s going to make stripper puns the rest of the day.


You walk in on Papyrus changing in his room, and he immediately gasps and covers his ribs with his arms. He’s still wearing his gloves for some reason.  "H-HUMAN, I’M NOT DECENT!”

You’re so startled that you stammer an apology and practically slam the door closed.  Your heart is racing, and you find yourself standing with your back against the door, your face hot.  You can’t get the mental image of him standing there, completely shirtless–even without the tight black material he usually covered his bones with–yet still wearing his gloves.  Does that mean he put the gloves back on? Or did he just not wear the black material today??

You have too many unanswered questions, but when Papyrus emerges later on, you both act awkward and avoid eye contact.  


The first time you see him shirtless is when he’s gotten in a fight, and you want to look at his ribs.


You can see marrow on his shirt.  You insist that he takes it off, and when he stubbornly looks away, you just grab the hem and start to lift it up.  He struggles a little, his cheekbones a bright red, but if he really didn’t want you to take it off, you know he would stop you.  Instead, it doesn’t take long before you have the shirt up over his head, and he’s shirtless.

His ribs are a patchwork of scars and ossifications from old fractures.  You lightly trace a finger over an old mark, and he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth.  Now, he’s looking directly at you, his eyelights small and laser-focused.  You touch another scar.  "Does it hurt?“ you can’t help but ask, your voice coming out much smaller than anticipated.

”…NO.“  His voice sounds rough, but thicker than usual, as if he’s speaking around a lump in his throat.  

You nod a little and start bandaging the new wounds.  Every time your fingers scrape against one of his uninjured ribs, you hear him breath in deep through his nasal cavity.  The entire time, he watches you carefully, his cheekbones dusted red, and his fingers clenching and unfurling against his thighs.  When you’re finished, he seems.. disappointed.. and just sits there, still staring.

“You..uh, you can put your shirt back on,” you mutter, which seems to snap him out of his trance.  He grunts, and then finally tears his gaze away to stand and go to his room to retrieve a clean shirt.


You walk in on Blueberry changing, and he immediately blushes a bright blue.  However, he doesn’t cover up his bones; instead, he plants his hands on his hips and tries to look you directly in the eye.  It’s more difficult than he expected.


Hoo boy.  You’re blushing like crazy.  As soon as you saw him, you tried to back out the door, but now, you’re frozen to the spot.






Suddenly, the door slams shut, and you’re staring up at Stretch, who’s grin looks a little scary.  "knock from now on, will ya? it’s just plain rude to walk in on someone like that.“

You can only nod and back away from the door, while you hear Blueberry’s outrage shout of “PAPY!” from the other side.  


It’s laundry day when you see him shirtless.  You’re sitting on the couch, watching NTT with Stretch when you hear Blueberry remind him from upstairs.  "ok,“ Stretch calls back, and he leans forward to shed his hoodie right then and there.  You were expecting him to have a black muscle tank on beneath it–you’ve caught glimpses of it on the rare moments when he reached for something high and the hem of his hoodie rode up his frame.  But.. apparently, laundry day means that his tanks are dirty because he’s completely shirtless now, his rib cage fully exposed.

You’re trying not to stare, but you can’t help it.  You’ve always wondered what he would look like without the hoodie, so seeing him without it and the tank is like Christmas in April.  

Of course, he notices you staring.

His lazy grin lifts into a smirk. "sorry. without the hoodie, i’m just skin and bones. minus the skin.”  You blush; it’s obvious he’s watching you from the corner of his eyesocket. “does it bother you?”

“No, no, not at all,” you practically trip over the words in your haste to get him to remain shirtless.  "I-it’s just.. interesting.“  Yeah, you’re real smooth, aren’t you?

Stretch chuckles and leans over, slipping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you against his side.  Your face turns even hotter, and you lean into his touch, resting your cheek against his shoulder.  You can feel his ribs scraping against your arm, and honestly, you shift positions not because you’re uncomfortable but because you want to feel his bones.  "i’m not too pokey, am i?” he asks in response to your shifting; he thinks you’re uncomfortable.

“Not at all,” you assure him quickly, and he relaxes.  The two of you continue watching TV like that, but honestly, you’re not paying attention to the show in the slightest. Napstaton could go on a killing spree on-stage, and you wouldn’t bat an eye right now.

So This Week’s Been Kinda Busy...

Because I’m a new mother!


We just got the beauties set up behind the library at our college. That’s me in the all-white bee suit! My friend Amanda’s in the camo. (It’s important that our temperamental lil’ ladies don’t get too pokey during the big move-in.) So far there’s only two, but once the hives grow we are planning on expanding their real-estate for them.

But just look at ‘em!

These pics are from last week, when the packages finally got delivered. That tin can’s packed FULL with sweet, sugary syrup for the bees to snack on during travel. Both queens (one per hive) were safe and sound in their separate queen cages with some candy and a few workers to tend to their needs. About 72 hours later we had to release them into the hives because they didn’t chew through the candy in time to get out, but both Highnesses are just fine.

This here’s a dopey little drone bee that decided to be friendly and climb on my finger. Drones are the male bees of the hive. Like this fella, they’re fatter and fuzzy with big ol’ eyes and (BONUS) no stinger! I named this one Obee-Wan Kenobi before setting him back on the hive, where he just kinda stood around like all the other drones as the workers flew about and scoped out the area. Eventually, this drone will reproduce with one of the two queens and….well, at least it’s a happy ending for them. But on the bright side, there will be even MORE bees so their brave sacrifices will not be in vain!

We even gave them delicious pollen patties to munch on so they’d get stronger during their first few weeks in the hives. That way each hive didn’t have to work too hard to get food and could focus on building the comb for honey and brood (bee babies), taking care of the queen, and growing in strength for the seasons to come.

All in all, I think the Bee Team is off to a good start. Our lovely HoneyBees are thriving and loving their new home on campus, which has thousands of flowers and budding trees for them to enjoy! We also have a sign placed off-camera in case some dumbo stumbles across the hives and tries to do something stupid (No lawsuits here baby!). But for the next four years, I’m gonna be tending to these lil’ buzzers until I get my Masters in Accounting. Then, who knows, maybe I’ll start up some hives of my own! But until then, I am a proud and happy Bee Mom!

10 well-explained TRAITS of ASPERGERS SYNDROME (HIGH FUNCTIONING AUTISM) from an article i read:

1) We are deep philosophical thinkers and writers; gifted in the sense of our level of thinking. Perhaps poets, professors, authors, or avid readers of nonfictional genre. I don’t believe you can have Aspergers without being highly-intelligent by mainstream standards. Perhaps that is part of the issue at hand, the extreme intelligence leading to an over-active mind and high anxiety. We see things at multiple levels, including our own place in the world and our own thinking processes. We analyze our existence, the meaning of life, the meaning of everything continually. We are serious and matter-of-fact. Nothing is taken for granted, simplified, or easy. Everything is complex.

2) We are innocent, naive, and honest. Do we lie? Yes. Do we like to lie? No. Things that are hard for us to understand: manipulation, disloyalty, vindictive behavior, and retaliation. Are we easily fooled and conned, particularly before we grow wiser to the ways of the world? Absolutely, yes. Confusion, feeling misplaced, isolated, overwhelmed, and simply plopped down on the wrong universe, are all parts of the Aspie experience. Can we learn to adapt? Yes. Is it always hard to fit in at some level? Yes. Can we out grow our character traits? No.

3) We are escape artists. We know how to escape. It’s the way we survive this place. We escape through our fixations, obsessions, over-interest in a subject, our imaginings, and even made up reality. We escape and make sense of our world through mental processing, in spoken or written form. We escape in the rhythm of words. We escape in our philosophizing.  As children, we had pretend friends or animals, maybe witches or spirit friends, even extraterrestrial buddies. We escaped in our play, imitating what we’d seen on television or in walking life, taking on the role of a teacher, actress in a play, movie star. If we had friends, we were either their instructor or boss, telling them what to do, where to stand, and how to talk, or we were the “baby,” blindly following our friends wherever they went. We saw friends as “pawn” like; similar to a chess game, we moved them into the best position for us. We escaped our own identity by taking on one friend’s identity. We dressed like her, spoke like her, adapted our own self to her (or his) likes and dislikes. We became masters at imitation, without recognizing what we were doing. We escaped through music. Through the repeated lyrics or rhythm of a song–through everything that song stirred in us. We escaped into fantasies, what could be, projections, dreams, and fairy-tale-endings. We obsessed over collecting objects, maybe stickers, mystical unicorns, or books. We may have escaped through a relationship with a lover. We delve into an alternate state of mind, so we could breathe, maybe momentarily taking on another dialect, personality, or view of the world. Numbers brought ease. Counting, categorizing, organizing, rearranging. At parties, if we went, we might have escaped into a closet, the outskirts, outdoors, or at the side of our best friend. We may have escaped through substance abuse, including food, or through hiding in our homes. What did it mean to relax? To rest? To play without structure or goal? Nothing was for fun, everything had to have purpose. When we resurfaced, we became confused. What had we missed? What had we left behind? What would we cling to next?

4) We have comorbid attributes of other syndromes/disorders/conditions. We often have OCD tendencies (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder), sensory issues (with sight, sound, texture, smells, taste), generalized anxiety and/or a sense we are always unsafe or in pending danger, particularly in crowded public places. We may have been labeled with seemingly polar extremes: depressed/over-joyed, lazy/over-active, inconsiderate/over-sensitive, lacking awareness/attention to detail, low-focus/high-focus. We may have poor muscle tone, be double-jointed, and lack in our motor-skills. We may hold our pencil “incorrectly.” We may have eating disorders, food obsessions, and struggles with diet. We may have irritable bowel, Fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, and other immune-challenges. We may have sought out answers to why we seemed to see the world differently than others we knew, only to be told we were attention seekers, paranoid, hypochondriacs, or too focused on diagnoses and labels. Our personhood was challenged on the sole basis that we “knew” we were different but couldn’t prove it to the world and/or our personhood was oppressed as we attempted to be and act like someone we were not. We still question our place in the world, who we are, who we are expected to be, searching for the “rights” and “wrongs;” and then, as we grow and realize there are no true answers, that everything is theory-based and limited, we wonder where to search.

5) We learn that to fit in we have to “fake” it. Through trial and error we lost friends. We over-shared, spilling out intimate details to strangers; we raised our hand too much in class, or didn’t raise our hand at all; we had little impulse control with our speaking, monopolizing conversations and bringing the subject back to ourselves. We aren’t narcissistic and controlling–we know we are not, but we come across that way. We bring the subject back to ourselves because that is how we make sense of our world, that is how we believe we connect. We use our grasp of the world as our foundation, our way of making sense of another. We share our feelings and understandings in order to reach out. We don’t mean to sound ego-centered or over zealous. It’s all we know. We can’t change how we see the world. But we do change what we say. We hold a lot inside. A lot of what we see going on about us, a lot of what our bodies feel, what our minds conjecture. We hold so much inside, as we attempt to communicate correctly. We push back the conversational difficulties we experience, e.g., the concepts of acceptable and accurate eye contact, tone of voice, proximity of body, stance, posture–push it all back, and try to focus on what someone is saying with all the do’s and don’ts hammering in our mind. We come out of a conversation exhausted, questioning if we “acted” the socially acceptable way, wondering if we have offended, contradicted, hurt, or embarrassed others or ourselves. We learn that people aren’t as open or trusting as we are. That others hold back and filter their thoughts. We learn that our brains are different. We learn to survive means we must pretend.

6) We seek refuge at home or at a safe place. The days we know we don’t have to be anywhere, talk to anyone, answer any calls, or leave the house, are the days we take a deep breath and relax. If one person will be visiting, we perceive the visit as a threat; knowing logically the threat isn’t real, doesn’t relieve a drop of the anxiety. We have feelings of dread about even one event on the calendar. Even something as simple as a self-imposed obligation, such as leaving the house to walk the dog, can cause extreme anxiety. It’s more than going out into society; it’s all the steps that are involved in leaving–all the rules, routines, and norms. Choices can be overwhelming: what to wear, to shower or not, what to eat, what time to be back, how to organize time, how to act outside the house….all these thoughts can pop up. Sensory processing can go into overload; the shirt might be scratchy, the bra pokey, the shoes too tight. Even the steps to getting ready can seem boggled with choices–should I brush my teeth or shower first, should I finish that email, should I call her back now or when I return, should I go at all? Maybe staying home feels better, but by adulthood we know it is socially “healthier” to get out of the house, to interact, to take in fresh air, to exercise, to share. But going out doesn’t feel healthy to us, because it doesn’t feel safe. For those of us that have tried CBT (Cognitive Behavior Therapy), we try to tell ourselves all the “right” words, to convince ourselves our thought patterns are simply wired incorrectly, to reassure ourself we are safe…the problem then becomes this other layer of rules we should apply, that of the cognitive-behavior set of rules. So even the supposed therapeutic self-talk becomes yet another set of hoops to jump through before stepping foot out of the house. To curl up on the couch with a clean pet, a cotton blanket, a warm cup of tea, and a movie or good book may become our refuge. At least for the moment, we can stop the thoughts associated with having to make decisions and having to face the world. A simple task has simple rules.

7) We are sensitive. We are sensitive when we sleep, maybe needing a certain mattress, pillow, and earplugs, and particularly comfortable clothing. Some need long-sleaves, some short. Temperature needs to be just so. No air blowing from the heater vent, no traffic noise, no noise period. We are sensitive even in our dream state, perhaps having intense and colorful dreams, anxiety-ridden dreams, or maybe precognitive dreams. Our sensitivity might expand to being highly-intuitive of others’ feelings, which is a paradox, considering the limitations of our social communication skills. We seek out information in written or verbally spoken form, sometimes over-thinking something someone said and reliving the ways we ought to have responded. We take criticism to heart, not necessarily longing for perfection, but for the opportunity to be understood and accepted. It seems we have inferiority complexes, but with careful analysis, we don’t feel inferior, but rather unseen, unheard, and misunderstood. Definitely misunderstood. At one point or another, we question if in fact we are genetic hybrids, mutations, aliens, or  displaced spirits–as we simply feel like we’ve landed on the wrong planet. We are highly susceptible to outsiders’ view points and opinions. If someone tells us this or that, we may adapt our view of life to this or that, continually in search of the “right” and “correct” way. We may jump from one religious realm to another, in search of the “right” path or may run away from aspects of religion because of all the questions that arise in theorizing. As we grow older, we understand more of how our minds work, which makes living sometimes even more difficult; because now we can step outside ourselves and see what we are doing, know how we our feeling, yet still recognize our limitations.  We work hard and produce a lot in a small amount of time. When others question our works, we may become hurt, as our work we perceive as an extension of ourselves. Isn’t everything an extension of ourselves–at least our perception and illusion of reality? Sometimes we stop sharing our work in hopes of avoiding opinions, criticism, and judgment. We dislike words and events that hurt others and hurt animals. We may have collected insects, saved a fallen bird, or rescued pets. We have a huge compassion for suffering, as we have experienced deep levels of suffering. We are very sensitive to substances, such as foods, caffeine, alcohol, medications, environmental toxins, and perfumes; a little amount of one substance can have extreme effects on our emotional and/or physical state.

8) We are ourselves and we aren’t ourselves. Between imitating others and copying the ways of the world, and trying to be honest, and having no choice but to be “real,” we find ourselves trapped between pretending to be normal and showing all our cards. It’s a difficult state. Sometimes we don’t realize when we are imitating someone else or taking on their interests, or when we are suppressing our true wishes in order to avoid ridicule. We have an odd sense of self. We know we are an individual with unique traits and attributes, with uniques feelings, desires, passions, goals, and interests, but at the same time we recognize we so desperately want to fit in that we might have adapted or conformed many aspects about ourselves. Some of us might reject societal norms and expectations all together, embracing their oddities and individuality, only to find themselves extremely isolated. There is an in between place where an aspie girl can be herself and fit in, but finding that place and staying in that place takes a lot of work and processing. Some of us have a hard time recognizing facial features and memorize people by their clothes, tone of voice and hairstyle. Some of us have a hard time understanding what we physically look like. We might switch our preference in hairstyles, clothes, interests, and hobbies frequently, as we attempt to manage to keep up with our changing sense of self and our place. We can gain the ability to love ourselves, accept ourselves, and be happy with our lives, but this usually takes much inner-work and self-analysis. Part of self-acceptance comes with the recognition that everyone is unique, everyone has challenges, and everyone is struggling to find this invented norm. When we recognize there are no rules, and no guide map to life, we may be able to breathe easier, and finally explore what makes us happy.

9) Feelings and other people’s actions are confusing. Others’ feelings and our own feelings are confusing to the extent there are no set rules to feelings. We think logically, and even though we are (despite what others think) sensitive, compassionate, intuitive, and understanding, many emotions remain illogical and unpredictable. We may expect that by acting a certain way we can achieve a certain result, but in dealing with emotions, we find the intended results don’t manifest. We speak frankly and literally. In our youth, jokes go over our heads; we are the last to laugh, if we laugh at all, and sometimes ourselves the subject of the joke. We are confused when others make fun of us, ostracize us, decide they don’t want to be our friend, shun us, belittle us, trick us, and especially betray us. We may have trouble identifying feelings unless they are extremes. We might have trouble with the emotion of hate and dislike. We may hold grudges and feel pain from a situation years later, but at the same time find it easier to forgive than hold a grudge. We might feel sorry for someone who has persecuted or hurt us. Personal feelings of anger, outrage, deep love, fear, giddiness, and anticipation seem to be easier to identify than emotions of joy, satisfaction, calmness, and serenity. Sometimes situations, conversations, or events are perceived as black or white, one way or another, and the middle spectrum is overlooked or misunderstood. A small fight might signal the end of a relationship and collapse of one’s world, where a small compliment might boost us into a state of bliss.

10) We have difficulty with executive functioning. The way we process the world is different. Tasks that others take for granted, can cause us extreme hardship. Learning to drive a car, to tuck in the sheets of a bed, to even round the corner of a hallway, can be troublesome. Our spacial awareness and depth-awareness seems off. Some will never drive on a freeway, never parallel park, and/or never drive. Others will panic following directions while driving. New places offer their own set of challenges. Elevators, turning on and off faucets, unlocking doors, finding our car in a parking lot, (even our keys in our purse), and managing computers, electronic devices, or anything that requires a reasonable amount of steps, dexterity, or know-how can rouse in us a sense of panic. While we might be grand organizers, as organizing brings us a sense of comfort, the thought of repairing, fixing, or locating something causes distress. Doing the bills, cleaning the house, sorting through school papers, scheduling appointments, keeping track of times on the calendar, and preparing for a party can cause anxiety. Tasks may be avoided. Cleaning may seem insurmountable. Where to begin? How long should I do something? Is this the right way? Are all questions that might come to mind. Sometimes we step outside of ourselves and imagine a stranger entering our home, and question what they would do if they were in our shoes. We reach out to others’ rules of what is right, even in isolation, even to do the simplest of things. Sometimes we reorganize in an attempt to make things right or to make things easier. Only life doesn’t seem to get easier. Some of us are affected in the way we calculate numbers or in reading. We may have dyslexia or other learning disabilities. We may solve problems and sort out situations much differently than most others. We like to categorize in our mind and find patterns, and when ideas don’t fit, we don’t know where to put them. Putting on shoes, zipping or buttoning clothes, carrying or packing groceries, all of these actions can pose trouble. We might leave the house with mismatched socks, our shirt buttoned incorrectly, and our sweater inside out. We find the simple act of going grocery shopping hard: getting dressed, making a list, leaving the house, driving to the store, and choosing objects on the shelves is overwhelming.


*the above article nearly describes my struggles perfectly… im not clumsy, but all else is spot on. though i rarely mention it, i was diagnosed with aspergers syndrome about 13 years ago… a beautiful curse, of sorts.

–me ॐ

“So would you prefer that we just NEVER mention our kids again, huh?”

Honest answer…?

Okay - honest answer - if you want to know what it’s like to be me, imagine living in a world where everybody is absolutely obsessed with the hokey-pokey.

When you get into work on Monday morning, and ask people about their weekend, they tell you they did the hokey-pokey all weekend - just like last weekend - and it’s the only news they ever report to you. They go into detail about specific hokey-pokies they danced. They show you photos on their phone of them doing the hokey-pokey. Adverts on TV all feature people doing the hokey-pokey, even when they’re selling sofas or cars or insurance - and you don’t understand why they have to include the hokey-pokey in everything, but somehow they do. 

People identify themselves as “proud hokey-pokiers”, or in the newspapers, they’re called things like, “Julie, 29, who does the hokey-pokey about nine times a day”. 

Even though it seems like everyone but you does the hokey-pokey all the year round, Christmas is still hailed as ‘the time for hokey-pokey’ and there are dewy adverts everywhere as everyone does the hokey-pokey all together. Everything from major terrorist attacks to food shortages and antibiotic resistance stories are greeted with wails of, “How will this affect doing the hokey-pokey?” People are given government subsidies and tax breaks and time off work for dedicated attention to the hokey-pokey. 

And anyone who doesn’t like the hokey-pokey is treated like they’ve got two heads. 

Everyone assumes all kinds of things about them, based purely on their dislike of the hokey-pokey. There are crude stereotypes about old, embittered “anti-hokey-pokiers” or “hokey-pokeyless” people, who are constantly told they will change their mind about the hokey-pokey when their knees start to wear out and the hokey-pokey is no longer so easily doable, or when they meet the right person to dance the hokey-pokey with, or when all their friends no longer have time to talk to them because they’re all off doing the hokey-pokey.

People get discount rail tickets if they’re doing the hokey-pokey. Museums and galleries are criticised if they’re not accessible enough to people doing the hokey-pokey. If you’re in a cafe, and someone is loudly and vigorously dancing the hokey-pokey, knocking into other people’s tables, nobody says a word. They might even get dewy smiles from onlookers. “The hokey-pokey is such a joy,” they sigh, and anyone who wanted to read in peace or enjoy the drink they’ve bought has no right whatsoever to complain.

People who don’t hokey-pokey are often passed over for promotion to senior positions in companies - boards are nervous about someone who doesn’t do something as wholesome and natural as the hokey-pokey. They think it suggests a character defect. 

Interviewers, too, are reluctant to hire young people who will inevitably go off at some point on paid Hokey-Pokey Leave and cost the company a fortune. Even those young people who claim they don’t like doing the hokey-pokey are considered a risky hire, because who knows when they will suddenly develop a taste for the hokey-pokey? Six months down the line and you’ll be hiring again. 

Soaps and TV shows and sitcoms all feature plots about the hokey-pokey. Serious drama revolves around the hokey-pokey too, and if a character is ever not involved in doing the hokey-pokey for any reason, you can bet they won’t be a happy, successful person. Their storylines will all centre around their inability to do the hokey-pokey - or, if it’s through choice, they’ll start out as a cruel and joyless Scrooge who undergoes a miraculous Damascus-style conversion and ends the movie hokey-pokeying like they were born for it. 

Everywhere you look, hokey-pokey. 

Every conversation you have, hokey-pokey. 

Every book, every film, every TV show, hokey-freaking-pokey. 

People introduce themselves with, “Hi, I’m Paul! What’s your name? How often do you do the hokey-pokey?” 

Upon hearing that you don’t do it at all, and don’t intend to, Paul will either pity you for a medical condition he assumes you’ve got (because what able-bodied person wouldn’t want to dance the hokey-pokey?) or he starts questioning you vociferously about whether your life will have any meaning, reminding you that all normal people love the hokey-pokey. Men won’t marry women who won’t hokey-pokey with them. 

Any attempt you make to say, “Oh no, I’m not anti-hokey-pokey - it’s just not for me,” is not enough for Hokey-Pokey Paul. 

He doesn’t understand why you’re challenging his love for the hokey-pokey. Why do you hate people who dance the hokey-pokey? Were you abused as a child by someone doing the hokey-pokey? 

And would you prefer it if he just NEVER mentioned the hokey-pokey again?