How To Tell If The Guy You’re Dancing With Is Rolling*


I went out one evening to Avalon with some cool acquaintances to take in some enlightened drum n bass.  I was wearing my wig, my souvenir v-neck from the Prince concert, and 3 inch heels.  We eased onto the dance floor, dancing, having a nice time.  When I dance, I tend to travel after a while; I ended up on the other side of the venue.  Right in front of some hipster dude wearing the requisite flannel/plaid button-up.  He exclaimed.  He wrapped his arms around me from behind.  He vigorously grabbed and caressed my muffin top.  He wouldn’t let go.  The more I struggled, the further he buried his face into my fro.

*meaning, intoxicated with mdma/ecstasy, for all of you who are even more of a square than I am

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