74 Dead and Counting

I was pretty pissed off when watching an interview on the recent stampede that killed almost a hundred people, two female variety dancers of the show that triggered it piped up that it was a shame the program got cancelled. They complained that they had spent weeks practicing their new moves. They got blisters. They got cramps. They suffered minor muscular and epithelial injuries so they could just gyrate themselves and chortle their annoying high pitched prenubescent-like voices on stage.

Lamebrains.

Airheads.

Oh, it’s such a shame the show got cancelled because seventy-nine people got killed. Darn it. Now we can’t show off our new moves.

Oh yes, your blisters and cramps are more important than the bodies of several people squashed. Yes, we should advocate more people like you. We would live in a world where we would readily refrain from saving hostages rather than have a boutique bombed.

We’ve also contributed a lot to this show.

(Nod, nod) Of course. Showing a lot of skin is eye candy. And those moves? Yowza! My favorite part is where you constantly repeat the choices of the answer after the host and dance. I so totally see the significance of stimulating my cognitive system with such aesthetic imagery and pleasant vocal falsetto vibrations.

To show my appreciation, I have made a new cheer you might want to try out.

“Is it Derrida?” twist and double flip. “Is it Frye?” swing hips twice. “Is it Froebel?” high kick, twist, toss head. “No, it is Goooo Skinner!” throw up hands, twist and undulate upper body.

Let me be clear up front. I do not have anything against dancers. I used to belong in a dance troupe and enjoyed almost every aspect of dancing. I hold high regard for this expressive kinesthetic art. It conveys stories, legends and emotions through the artful complete manipulation of the body. Yet it’s quite another to complain that you weren’t able to show off your grooves when human lives are involved.

And that’s bullshit.

But then again, we have to seriously rethink our values in the aftermath of this great tragedy. When people continue to push at the back of the line unaware that there were already corpses in front, when hordes are in their cursed coveted seats inside the stadium dreaming of jackpot prizes blissfully unaware that they are now charged for murder, when others still line up to attend the game show even after seeing the cadaver strewn streets of their fellowmen, you know we’ve got a problem.

As one of the victims put it, “I dreamt of cash. In turn, I lost my wife.”

God have mercy on us.

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