Crapulous according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary:
- Late Latin crapulosus, from Latin crapula intoxication, from Greek kraipalē
The dance floor is packed and you nurse the delcioius beverage currently serving as WD 40 for your soul. The lights dim and begin to pulse and Truckasaurus comes roaring out of the house speakers like an 8 bit fury with nothing but destroying the dance floor with quaking bass on its singular mind.
Having survived this onslaught, the five armed dj gazes down upon the audience, deeming it worthy of the most insipid and unabashedly cheesy tune he has in his repetoire. As Fruit Salad by Gameboy/Gamegirl roils out of the speakers, a wave of awful dance moves strikes the audience like a plague. The running man, the shopping cart, the white boy thumb dance, the cha cha slide part 2, THE CHARLIE BROWN!!!! None are safe from the ravages of these gyrations of the human form and, impossibly, the party gets better because of it!
With inhibitions lower than the Dow Jones Average, the pliable audience is swept up in the utter euphoria of cutting loose and dancing like complete imbeciles. You are on your eleventh drink as Totally Michael filters through the club and you launch yourself, quite ungracefully, back into the fray. The track bubbles over with giddiness and hyperactive memories of youth once again being experienced by the disaffected and weathered. Winona Ryder’s memory lives in us all.
Basking in the nostalgic glow of happy memories relived, you see the dj crack a sinister grin. What is he planning on unleashing upon the crowd? What foul depth of his record bin did he shuffle about in to bring ruination to this gaggle of frolicing maniacs? Clown by Ssion, bitches. The record is the sonic equivalent of the atomic bomb being detonated in your face five times over as monster trucks on fire careen through the air, bearing down on your position. Prepare to melt.
The dance floor is a fallout zone, utterly devastated in the wake of the Clown. Perhaps the Dj has gone too far. How will the party continue when its’ participants auditory canals have been mercilessly shredded? At that precise moment, a ray of light shines from the ether. What does this portend? Who is stepping out from this temporal rift? Why, just the greatest collection of heros our world of booty shakinghas ever seen: The Trifecta of power that is Captain Sky, Super Jake and the Arabian Prince! (Posts concerning Captain Sky and Gary Davis are forthcoming in which I will give their full history!) Captain Sky steps forward first, proclaiming that bubblegum is the name of the game and he chewz you!
The crowd is going nuts, completely revitalized and nourished back to health by the powers of funk. Now on your eighteenth concoction, you blearily see Gary Davis A.K.A Super Jake step up to the stage and unfurl his endlessly funky story. Super Jake is in command and your feet follow.
The groove has been established and the people have gotten their fill of dancing madness for the night, yet one mighty being of funk remains to speak. The mysterious Arabian Prince has appeared to bestow infinite wisdom of the funk upon the masses and close out this impossible calvacade of dance and drink in true cosmic fashion. Your mind wanders and gets lost as the woozy stabs of the Prince’s keys wisk away what conciousness you had remaining. Feel it!
Pick up his anthology, which is great, here!
The temporal rift flickers, turning oblong and spewing incomprehensible geometric shapes out of it’s confines. The link to a new plane of funkiness blinks from view and your eyes readjust to the sight of the dance club sprawled before you. A cheer of joy and exultation seethes through the crowd as all partygoers emerge from Liquid Sunshine arm in arm, united and bewildered at what they have experienced and will never forget. Reluctantly parting with you fellows, you stumble home the way you came, joints and limbs buzzing with ethereal dance energy. The cicadas hum has increases to a wave of noise that enveloped and insulates your besotten ass, helping you up as you skin your knees on the pavement, calming your mind as you struggle for your keys and and imparting a true bliss as you akwardly tumble down the stairs.
Dragging your tired, bruised body to rest, splayed out at odd angles on your bed, you think just how much fun you experienced this night and how next weekend will surpass this night. For now, you slip into the arms of content and rejoice the simple beauty of drunken, unfettered dance.